Anna sat in the airport, furiously punching her laptop’s keyboard and screaming profanities inside her head.
Why won’t you work? Connectconnectconnect. Find a signal. I need signal. Come on, come on. One more bar. Just one more bar. MAKE a signal you fucking prick.
The international departure lounge was nearly empty. Anna hoped this meant a quiet flight.
Oh god. Flight.
Frantically clicking buttons Anna started to sweat, although the lounge was so unnecessarily air conditioned (it never got hot on the East Coast until at least August, and it was April) it was a wonder her breath wasn’t coming out in white puffs.
I could run. Anna thought. I don’t have to get on this plane. Or, I could get on and just not get on the next flight in London. I could live in Heathrow. No one would ever know, I could sell what’s in my suitcase for money and in two month’s no one would be the wiser when I get back.
Her laptop was having issues connecting to the supposedly free and convenient WiFi pumping through the air in the departure lounge. She needed to get a hold of him before she left. She needed a little reassurance. A lot of reassurance. Big, fat, elephant sized reassurance. It had been almost two months since she last saw him and she was having serious doubts about this trip.
She slammed the laptop shut, (Shit, I’m going to break it one of these days) stuffed it in her bag and lugged her over size hang luggage across the lounge to a row of payphones.
Digging furiously in her purse she found her calling card and clutching it with slightly numb hands she began to dial the 1-800 number.
”Please dial the international code, area code, and phone number of the person you wish to speak to” blared a woman’s voice in her ear.
Anna slowly punched in numbers, 1..3..5..4..3..5..6…
Shit. What’s the international code? It should be one right? Its all ones in Europe surely. But Malta isn’t exactly near Europe, maybe they have the same one as Africa? Maybe the entire Mediterranean is two and I’m going to end up speaking to some stranger in the Netherlands and the plane is leaving in twenty minutes. 354, that’s the area code right? Shit. I think he said 356. I should have written it down.
Anna slammed the phone back and sat back in the hard plastic booth.
I don’t even know his phone number. Fuck what the hell am I doing?
Her breaths starting coming faster, in short bursts. Her head felt numb, and the feeling in her hands was completely gone now.
When Anna got nervous she lost feeling in various body parts, but her hands were always the first to go. It was never to her advantage in the many piano recitals and competitions she had played in. Or in any situation that required coordination really.
I need a drink. Or a joint. Preferably both.
Anna gathered her things and sat back down in the front row of the departure lounge. The clock on the departure information screen in front of her changed to 11:21pm. An airport attendant stood at a desk in front of her, staring at a computer screen. Security staff began puttering around, preparing the gate for opening.
To her right people were exciting the plane that she could soon board.
This flight will change everything.