Hannah's finger hovers over my phone, inching closer to the 'send' button on the text. She's been teasing me for the last ten minutes, but she never hits send.
Doesn't mean I'm not scared she'll 'accidentally' do it anyway. I pull my phone away from her and squint at the smirk on her face. "You said you'd reach out to them a week ago, Kevin. They emailed you back excited to hear from you. What the hell are you waiting for?"
"Hoping to lose cell service, honestly," I grunt, locking my phone before Jim can hit 'send' on my opposite side. "I hate this—who's idea was it to put the biggest one here in the middle fucking seat?" I snap, struggling to cross my arms in the cramped shuttle taking us back to the hotel in Frankfurt.
Jim lowers his brow and says, in a voice too deep to be me, "Hey bros, I'll sit in the center, take another one for the team so I can whine about it later."
Hannah cackles, and I purposefully lean on Jim until he's squished into the door. "I did not say that, nor do I sound like that."
"Hey broskis, my dudes, my guys, I'm Kevin Kooper and I fight gluts with my eyes closed and yet I can't text the person I like," goes Hannah. Jim laughs now, and I'm overwhelmed by rumbling, dumb voices that aren't mine saying shit I don't say as they go back and forth.
If Elijah was here, he'd be maps, and he'd turn around in the passenger seat and add his own little quip. If Margaret was here, she'd be driver, purposefully swerving on the empty road just to mess with all of us.
—
I finally hit send on the text. And of course we run out of signal. So I'm standing outside on the balcony of Jim and my's room, arm outstretched with the cell phone in hand, hoping I get at least one bar before I accidentally drop it on someone's unsuspecting head.
Jim's out with Hannah, getting food. No one said anything, but they know that, even though I've been sailing through PT, I don't move as fast as they do these days. So they went without me.
Right now, I don't mind, cause my text just went through. And little bubbles are popping up already.
-Hiya Koop!! Look at us, using text! How're you doing?
-Good, just got back to our hotel in Frankfurt.
-Met with the US embassy ppl.
Guess we're getting medals.
-a medal! For what? That's amazing, congrats Kev.
-just for something stupid. It's a long story.
-Jim and Hannah are getting food.
-That sounds fun. How's Frankfurt?
-Want a picture?
-Yes please!
I snap a couple shots of the street below, houses and buildings a mix of modern and old architecture.
I shift my weight and take one of me with the skyline in the background. Delete it three times cause the first two I feel like I'm scowling, and the third I'm smiling but trying too hard. Go for a resting face. Look boring, but at least I don't look pissed off or possessed.
-You getting sleep? Be honest. Don't like the bags under your eyes, Kevin.
-Not really. But we've got a hotel, so no more bunks. Or tents. Real beds.
-That's good, what time is it there?
-20:30, wbu?
-11:30! Just made lunch!
YOU ARE READING
Starts with a Match
Horror"Most people in the units, especially here on the front lines where they're sick and bored of all this shit-they call them gluts. Gluttons. Ravenous, insatiable. Zombies. Can't be a zombie if they're still alive. Which they are. They're just starvi...
