4: Travel

Louisa Catherine Miller

"Last call for board, Gate 23. Last call."

I blinked my eyes open. Where was I?

It took me a moment to realize I was sprawled out in a chair at the airport--not at home in my bed, tucked safely away in my sheets--my big open book laying idly in my lap. I rubbed my eyes, stretching out my legs.

"Last call for board, Gate 23. Last call."

I lept from my seat, spilling my book, my notebook and set of pens all over the floor. "Wait!" I called. The lady in her sharp uniform and bright red lipstick caught sight of me and nodded. Swearing under my breath, I fell to my knees, gathering all the loose items and stuffing them briskly in my carry-on. I stood, jogging to the entrance and making my way onto the plane as the last on board.


I sighed, plopping down in my seat and taking out my things once more. Smoothing my hair, I looked to the empty seats beside me. Oh, great. The window seat. I hoped that there would be no in the middle seat. With my luck, it would be an overweight person taking up half my seat who stank terribly. I shuddered. That was my last experience.  I smoothed back my hair, the curls escaping from behind my ear from my "nap". I guess I looked really ruffled. On second thought, I didn't really care. Who could I meet on an airplane?

Bitting my lip, I returned to my work. Notes were scattered in a disorderly fashion across the page in my thin, tall and simple hand. It almost looked like me, in a way. Your handwriting seemed to say something about who you were.

From a family with parents who neither went to college, I was the first in my close family to step into college. I had been raised in a 'commen sense' enviornment, lead by my intuitive, thoughtful mother, who could do anything if she could. She had been the main culprit in pushing me to further my interest in the world and it's fantastic history. She had been at my side to help me continue my education and get into college. Under her wing I had recieved my scholarship, which after my first year, sent me to several countries to study. Now I was heading home. Well, back to my school. The same country, at least.

"Oh, dear," the murmur of an elderly woman in my armsreach drew me from my thoughts. She struggled with her heavy bag, trying to put it above in the overhead with seemingly no one to help her.

I set aside my things, standing from my seat and coming to her side. "You need help?"

"Oh, would you, Dear? That would be sweet." she sat aside her bag, smiling. Reaching down, I was shocked to find her bag incredibly heavy, more than I expected, as if it was weighted with rocks. God, what do you have in here, Grandma? You plan to bomb the plane?

Gritting my teeth, I attempted to shove her bloated bag into the small space left above. I pushed hard, and something snapped-the zipper on one of the pockets broke and her old lady panties and silk blouses and such came fluttering down onto my head and shoulders.

"Goodness me!" cried the woman.

"Umm," came a voice from beside me, hinted with chuckles. "Need some help?"

I closed my eyes. I hated planes. I hated airports. I hated travelling.

The End

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