“Don’t let anyone steal our lives,” Pia said, already halfway gone.
“I’ll die for them,” I said.
She turned. “You’ll apologize first.”
Her blue hair was already disappearing into the terminal.
I texted her. I’ll die sorry.
I sat with the bags between my feet and my knees angled inward. Posture meant to suggest harmlessness and vigilance at once.
We arrived three hours early and moved through security like we’d accidentally done something wrong by being competent.
The terminal was politely loud. Announcements softened by carpet. Rolling suitcases murmuring. The moving walkway groaned when someone stepped off it. Everyone looked like they were performing calm.
The gate was mostly empty. I checked our boarding passes again.
Same gate. Same time. Same names. Same seats.
A man sat down beside me without asking, which I cursed and admired. He wore a blazer that apologized and sneakers that forgave him. He smiled like he wanted to be remembered.
“Travel day,” he said.
“Allegedly,” I said.
He laughed. “You look like you’re guarding state secrets.”
“Making up for something,” I said.
“What?”
“Birth.”
He laughed again, and I started to like him.
“Where you headed?” he asked.
“Hopefully the same place as you,” I said. “Same gate and all.”
He nodded.
An announcement repeated itself, more soothing than the first time.
There was a pause that threatened awkwardness. I tried to think of a small-talk question.
“Do you like weather?” I asked and immediately felt abandoned by my own brain.
His brow furrowed. “Weather?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I promise I’m smarter than that sounded.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Seems like you apologize a lot. What with the making up for being born and all.”
“I was born trying to explain myself,” I said. “Don’t worry, it keeps my self-aggrandizing in check.”
A woman nearby laughed loudly, then looked around shamefully.
My hand shook slightly. He noticed.
“You don’t like airports?” he asked.
“I’m like this all of the time,” I said. “My hands like to freelance.”
He tilted his head. “What’s that like?”
I nudged the bags closer with my foot and then nudged them back.
“It’s like being extremely prepared for nothing at all times.”
He smiled. “You have a good attitude about it.”
“You don’t worry?”
“I try not to.”
“Got any sage advice?”
“Not in the slightest,” he said. “Just making conversation.”
I watched someone mis the moving walkway exit and try to recover socially.
Pia reappeared with two coffees.
He smiled at her and then looked at me. “I am going to stretch these old legs of mine.”
He ambled off, and Pia sat and handed me the coffee.
“New friend?” she asked.
“I’m still deciding what that was,” I said, as the space beside me reasserted itself.
She ventured back out into the restrained furor.
I stayed. Vigilant.
INSTANT NOODLES 