Short Story
Angie was furious when I flagged her as an unaccompanied minor with the
airline. What did she think I would do, cut her loose and walk away? It took
every argument she could think of just to get me to agree to this trip in
the first place.
“I haven’t seen my East Coast family since before the pandemic.”
“Nanny is turning 80 years old over the holiday break. You can’t travel
anymore, but I need to be there.”
“You taught me how to be safe and take care of myself.”
It was the last one that got me. My daughter was right. I trained her well
and knew she would be okay. Bad memories still haunt me, though.
“Okay,” I said. “You can go, but I’m going to get your ticket as a
minor.”
Angie put up a short fight. “Dad!”
“No arguments. Direct flights both ways. I will bring you to the gate, then
be there when the trip is over. Your uncle will meet you in La Guardia.” I
thought she was steamed, but the little trickster knew exactly how to play
me. Giving me that one little win kept my bruised ego in check.
Angie had a blast back East. I’ve been a wreck the entire time. Hopefully,
when I get to the airport and see her face, these fears will go back to my
nightmares where they belong. They’re safer in my head. No one gets hurt
there. Besides, I deserve the nightmares.
The airport over the holidays is enough to put anyone on edge. Way too many
travelers, most of them have no clue what to do. The parking garage is full,
from the ground floor to the whatever-level-is-up-at-the-top level. The
available space sign will never flash FULL, though. That’s because every
clown takes their oversized SUV to the airport, and they can’t cram those
boats in between the painted lines. Not anymore, not since our City Council
created more parking. Bureaucrats had the lines repainted, using the
selling point “this measure will increase the Wewa Falls Airport’s parking
by 17.65%.” They even had a pretty slide showing the math that got them to
17.65%. A couple of kids taking high school geometry got a hold of the slide
and added reality. Reworked planning factors, written over the top in red,
calculated a decrease of -11.77% availability. Double underline. Final
answer. Great.
Even my handicapped pass was useless until the ninth level. Come Christmas
time, everyone is a cripple.
Everything gets worse when the contents of those obscene wagons spill into
the airport terminal. Obscene families stumble through check-in kiosks and
security checkpoints, fucking up every step of the way.
“How can my bag be oversized? It was fine when I packed it this
morning.”
“Why do I have to take my shoes off?”
“Can we get a free upgrade to first class? It’s a special trip.”
Amateurs. It’s been 15 years since I last flew, but even I still know the
rules. I want to grab every one of those fucks by the throat and tell them,
“Put the cookies back in your pocket, get your asshole kids under control,
and follow the god damn rules. You are not going anywhere unless you follow
the god damn rules. And, you are holding up everyone behind you. Now
move!”
I want to, but I don’t talk like that. Not anymore.
Somehow, I made it through without popping any blood vessels. My escort
pass gets me through security and to the gate with plenty of time to spare.
I don’t mind sitting here for 45 minutes. I would rather be early than miss
greeting Angie at the gate. I bet she’s wearing that sweatshirt Uncle Billy
got her for Christmas. It’s his alma mater – her college in a couple of
years, I hope. Since she was a kid, Angie has wanted to follow in Uncle
Billy’s footsteps. I hope she does.
Don’t be like your dad, darling. Go into business. Don’t make the choices
I did – you won’t want to build the stomach for it.
Will Angie be hungry after the long flight? I doubt my girl ate anything
since breakfast – probably slept the whole way. I was going to bring snacks
from home, but I’m glad I changed my mind. All I can think of is that clown
munching on his Christmas cookies, holding everyone up at security. We could
grab something at the food court. No. I just want to get out of this
godforsaken hellhole. Besides, we still have Christmas gifts to open at
home.
I pass the time by scrolling through the contact list on my phone. Overdue
“Happy Holidays” texts to buddies make me nostalgic for the old days. I
wonder if they’re retired as well? If not, some must be pretty high up in
the organization by now. We don’t keep in contact — no one stays connected
once they’re out. It’s better that way. I won’t get any responses, but it
felt good to send the notes and pretend I’m still in the shit.
It is a true Christmas miracle when her plane pulls into the gate 10
minutes early. I don’t think my heart could’ve waited until the scheduled
arrival. Weary travelers start to pour through the door. These were not your
going somewhere travelers. They were coming home from their
holiday visits. Of all the things I despised when I was active, sleeping in
a strange bed was the worst. Nothing beats crawling under your own sheets
and falling asleep on your perfectly molded pillow. These fellows are all in
for a treat tonight.
Halfway through offloading, and there she is! The poor kid looks exhausted
while she scans the gate area for me. I wave my good arm and watch her
breathe a sigh of relief. Of course I was going to be here, silly.
With the brightest smile on both our faces, I crouch down on one knee as
Angie runs into my arms. Tears begin to well up in my eyes. God, I missed
her. She pulls me closer and whispers into my ear.
“Fat man to your 9 o’clock. Second is the redhead with a leather attaché
case getting off the plane now.”
No, those two don’t fit in this crowd. I can see it clear as day, but what
the fuck is she doing? As a thousand questions run through my head, instinct
overrides my reaction. I start talking about dinner plans, all the while
listening as she continues situation protocol.
“Skip baggage claim. Short-term parking, Charlie 09. There’s a Glock 22 in
my backpack hideaway, 14 and 1.”
I wrestle my broken body to its feet and set the stage with a prompt. Angie
will take lead. I’ll follow. That’s protocol. But, how does she know?
“I’m so glad you’re back, darling. Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Can you hold my stuff, please, Daddy? I have to go pee,” she declares,
then shoves her backpack into my arms before running across the terminal to
the woman’s restroom.”
“Hurry up,” I yell back. “I’ll wait right here.”
“Okay!” Her voice trails off.
The redhead follows my daughter while fat man pretends to make a call.
Shit! What the hell happened in New York? Why now?
It’s been 22 years…
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