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Forever under construction, terminal 3 was a labyrinthine of navigation at Indy speeds with unforgiving narrow temporary concrete divides that she hated almost as much as spiders. She saw the sign indicating her cut off, Her GPS moot, incapable of identifying pylons, as she raced past it barely keeping pace with the flow of traffic, everyone else knowing exactly their route. She would have to loop around the entire expanse and attempt to hit the pits that were the parking lot once again.
She succeeded the second time around, parked her car, checked her phone - nothing, and made her way to the elevators.
'Parents?' an older gentleman in the elevator car asked happily.
'I'm sorry?' she replied.
'Are you picking up your parents?' he asked anew just as happily.
'Oh.’ At first she hadn’t any idea as to what the man was talking about. ‘No. My boyfriend.’
‘Well, isn’t he a lucky guy! He didn’t take a trip without you, did he?’ the man asked suspiciously.
She feigned a laugh, smiling broadly at him. ‘He was away on business. Are you here to pick up your family?’ she inquired. She much preferred to be the one asking the questions than the one to have to answer them.
‘In a way,’ said the man. ‘My son is flying in from Vegas. He was down there playing in a poker tournament, Texas Hold ‘em. You ever play?’
She had, many times. Her man had taught her, telling her that any good lawyer has to have the best of poker faces, that bluffing was an art. That, in fact, it rarely matters what cards you held. You simply had to beat the player. She had taken to it like a bird to flight, unsure at first, that fear of falling, and then she found her wings and trusted in the thermals of beating. She sat in on the games he hosted with the boys once a month, winning so often that His friends threaten not to come if she was playing, He telling them to man up and to bring their A games instead. He threw a day-long tournament once in the fall of years ago and the buy in was big, big for them and his friends. She played, starting the day off narrowly, being beat out by a bad river. His luck, on the other hand, ran out mid- day, which never bothered him. She noticed - or at least had always thought - that he threw these parties not to win at poker, but to have an excuse to hang with his friends hosting them a great time.
By nine o’clock it was down to her and His buddy Dave. Dave always played a tight game, this she knew, but once in a blue moon he would bluff, holding nothing in his hand, a dangerous prospect when playing heads-up poker. At this point her man had been assigned the role of dealer, though the cards were shuffled by one if not two of his other friends to ensure that stacking was not happening. On the deal, she pulled pocket threes. A good start. Dave was stoned faced as per usual and the tension in the room had been building due to the size of the pot and the fact that she had a slight chip lead over Dave. Dave bet, big enough to cause her to question his hand but not enough to scare her off. She knew he had to make a move. What she didn’t know was that he was making it now. On the flop he had laid down an Ace of spades, ten of hearts and a three of spades. That’s a big flop, everyone voiced, getting excited, a few high fives slapped in the room. Dave still maintained his Atwood stone face and she stared intently at him as if not noticing the cards between them. Dave bet huge, perhaps too huge. He was either holding pocket aces or was desperately trying to buy the pot. It sliced doubt in her mind and she consciously wore it on her face, but studying Dave and his eyes, his breathing and incessant fiddling of his chips, her instinct screamed that he had nothing at all. The decision made, the confidence standing proud she played it up, taking her time to consider the bet, hoping that Dave might think her chasing a flush or perhaps even a straight. When she did call, she did so reluctantly and it was just the right length of rope for Dave to hang himself with. The dealer put down the turn card, Ace of Diamonds. She had this. Trip threes beats ace pair. Dave, making a brilliant sale of his bluff, went all in, pushing the stacks of chips into the centre of the table. The guys watching hooted and hollered at his move. Now she felt the dread, that sinking feeling one gets when they’ve been duped by a scammer or like getting ripped off by the high school drug peddler for forty bucks and being able to do nothing to find satisfaction without risking teeth and limbs. She took a minute, her mind doing the math. He most likely had her beat if he was holding an Ace, but again her instinct, that voice that sounds nothing like its brother logic, whispered softly that she had this. She didn’t even bother looking at her cards. They weren’t going to change, so she pushed all her chips in calling all in as well. The room exploded with jeers and Oh my gods! Flip em, He said to her and Dave. She had her pocket threes, three of a kind, and Dave flipped his cards. She couldn’t believe it. Pocket Aces. The better three of a kind. Dave stood up having won so far and she pushed her chair back, the game out of their hands and one last card to fall: the river. The guys went crazy. The dealer, her man, let the noise fade into silence. He threw a look to Dave but only so that he could throw a look to her and tell her with his eyes that he loved her brass. He burnt a card and pulled a second one from the top of the deck, taking his time to place it face down on the table. Dave paced with his fingers interlaced over his head as if trying to force relaxation. Turn it, she said, wanting to know the result, wanting to be done with it. He turned it over – three of hearts – four of a kind. She had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. The room decibeled insanely. Dave cursed at top volume, unable to believe he had just lost. Her man hugged her and she high fived the guys. She had just won two grand!
She lied though, ‘No I’ve never played. Is it a card game?’ The man had expected her to have no knowledge of the game and was so given his chance to go on about it.
‘It’s only the best damn game ever! You really should try your hand at it. You know my son is about your age. I’m sure he could teach ya’ the man offered.
She couldn’t believe it. Was this man for real? She now whished she had taken the stairs. The elevator took forever.
‘Oh I’m sure your son wouldn’t want to teach me the game after playing in Vegas. Thank you, though,’ She rejoined.
Finally the doors of the elevator rattled open and as if planned by some saving force there stood Luke, looking as suave as always, dressed with designer clothes that he seemingly threw on by accident, his sunglasses big and mirrored. His face lit up when he noticed her.
‘Well hello there, Lady!’ he said moving towards her.
‘Luke!’ she exclaimed and gave him a big hug. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. The large gutted man loomed just to the side as if waiting his turn. She felt his presence there and wanted the situation done with. She turned to him.
‘Congratulations on your son’s success. It was nice chatting with you, Sir. Take care.’ She said it firmly but with all the intonation of sincerity, and before he could respond she hooked her arm under Luke’s and walked away. The man fumbled his words, ‘Yo – you take care now’ he called after her.
Walking down the causeway with Luke her anger towards her man vanished, like a scary apparition. She was now very enthusiastic about the idea of finally seeing her man. She wanted the smell of him to fill her head, his strong arms to make safe her body. The more she allowed herself to think about it, the more she wanted him badly, in their bed, lips and hands to touch and kiss. She smiled at the prospects.
‘What was all that about?’ Luke asked referring to the gutted man.
She huffed, ‘Just some random person that struck up a conversation with me on the elevator. His son’s on his way home from a Vegas Texas tournament.’ She laughed.
She had her life entire, in everyday situations, found herself talking to complete strangers as though they were best friends. She liked the random conversations, she asking most of the questions, discovering a person’s story or hearing of some absurd ideology they carried like a cross. It was an art and she was most certainly the master of it, making a person feel as though they are the only other in the world, letting them bask in her sunlight which was in truth their own, just given back to them with an eagerly sincere smile and attentive eyes. Everyone has a story, just give them the chance to tell it and hear them.
‘You’re too much,’ Luke said. ‘We’ve got time. Let’s grab a coffee.’
‘Yes, let’s do that’ she returned.
After they had bought and mixed their coffee, they sat in the arrivals lounge with time to spare. The flight was now thirty minutes late, or so the big board predicted. But who knew how precise it was. Luke had told her about his audition and she almost lost it at the name-dropping of the actress he had read with. She enjoyed the gossip rags and knew far more than Luke did about her, which he listened to intently.
They laughed, if only pretendingly, at how her man had probably dropped his phone in some body of water in an attempt to get the perfect shot. Luke had been privy to this many times. Once while tooling around downtown Toronto Luke had stood by waiting as his brother patiently sought just the right flow of pedestrian traffic at the corner of Yonge and Dundas while a protest of sorts happened in the background. After twenty minutes, Luke had grown tired of waiting on him and opted to grab some street meat from a vendor down near Bay Street, running into a girl from his acting class. Luke had spoken with her for almost a half hour before it dawned on him that his brother might be looking for him. He had quickly cut the conversation short, kissing the actress on the cheek, vowing to do drinks with her soon and made his way back to Yonge and Dundas. He bellowed when he found his brother still trying to get the shot.
‘So, how are your parents?’ Luke asked after a moment of silence.
‘They’re good’ she responded. She had visited them the day before. She desperately needed a break from studying and so called to take them out for lunch.
She pulled into the driveway of her parent’s house, she had only moved out a few years ago but it felt like yesterday. She had lived there all her life and moved out not on her own, but with her man.
On moving day, He pulled up in a large cube van, jumping out of the cab with a huge smile on his face. 'Someone order some movers?’ He joked badly. When he opened the back of the truck, the door rolling up on its self, the thing was half full. 'This is the last of my things. We got two loads dropped off already'. He had always lived on his own since he was nineteen; needless to say he had amassed quite a bit of things, though it was mostly furniture and that awful foosball table.
'Hey you!' He had run up to her giving her an excited hug and kiss. 'You all packed up?' he asked.
'I sure am, Kid. But I have, like, next to nothing compared to you'. She said genuinely excited.
'What's mine is now yours'. He said and kissed her again. 'I love ya'. He saw her parents and kissed her quickly once more and turned to greet them. 'Rob! How are you?' He called after her father. 'Marla. I'm stealing your daughter from you!' he said laughing. 'Take her please' her Mother jabbed back.
'Oh you're gonna miss me, mom' She said, heading into the house to grab boxes.
Her mother sighed quietly, not thinking anyone was looking and just under her breath said, 'I already do'. He had caught this and asked her mother if she wouldn't mind coming by tomorrow to help unpack, knowing she would like to be with her daughter as much as she could. She told him she would if they really needed the help, making it almost sound like she might have had other plans. Then she smiled at Him and went into the house.
Rob had approached, and in a very man-to-man way said, 'She’s our little girl and she has never lived outside of this home'.
He smiled at Rob and shook his hand. 'She'll be okay, I'll see to it' he said.
Rob had shaken His hand more firmly than usual, letting it linger just a moment.
'Right, let's gets you two loaded up' Rob said.
When they had brought in the last of the boxes and sat for the first time as a couple in their very own apartment, it felt right. Amidst what looked like ancient ruins of boxes they shared a single beer. The bed buried under boxes and suitcases, they strung up a hammock, holding each one another they gently swayed themselves to sleep. The day’s exhaustion prevented them from the official Christening.
She killed the engine, grabbed her bag and headed into the house.
The smell of home always had a wonderful calming effect on her; a smell like baking and Christmas and sleeping in. She could hear the television from the den, the volume loud so that her father could hear it. Age at work. She took her shoes off and dropped her bag.
'Hi! I'm home.' she announced.
'Oh hi, honey' her mother called from the kitchen. 'I'm in the kitchen'.
She cut through to the den, kissing her father who napped in the volume.
'How's my girl' he asked waking.
'I'm good Dad. I hope you’re hungry' she said.
'I could eat a horse' he replied. She took the remote and turned the TV down then made her way to her mother.
'Your father is going deaf. How are you?’ She dried her hands with a dishtowel, then hugged her daughter all the while on the phone, it tucked between her ear and her shoulder. 'Are you okay?' her mother asked, always having an instinctual awareness for her daughter’s moods and worries.
'Listen Beth, I'll call you later on today. Yeah okay. Good-bye'. Her mother said and hung up the phone.
'So, did you hear your sister and Michael sold the house?’ Her mother asked.
‘Yeah that’s great news. I haven’t spoken to her just yet but she left me a message.’ She feigned sounding interested for she wasn’t in the least. Her mother eyed her up and down for a moment as if try to physically place on her the whereabouts, the source of the uneasiness she kept feeling from her daughter.
‘Ok!’ Her mother said, peeved that her daughter would not open up to her. ‘Let’s collect your father and go for lunch.’ Her mother left the kitchen before her. She checked her phone… no messages. No calls.
She drove her parents downtown, the two of them complaining in tandem about her driving, how it was far too aggressive and fast. It would surely be the death of them all. They made it downtown, alive somehow, her mother joked, and lucked out finding a spot to park right on Queen. She plugged the meter and all three of them went in to Terroni’s, her parents’ favorite lunch restaurant.
The place was packed as always yet they were able to get a table on the back patio. She sat in the sun knowing full well her parents wouldn’t be able to cope without shade.
The spoke casually about the latest family gossip, what the neighbors were doing to their yard - which would ruin the neighborhood as a whole - about her sisters and their men, about Herself and her studies and then it came. The question she had subconsciously avoided throughout lunch.
‘So? When does He get back?’ Her mother asked, seemingly paying close attention to her daughter’s reaction, thinking He might be the source of her demeanor.
‘Where is He again? Syria?’ Her father added.
She took a sip of her iced tea and cleared her throat trying to stay relaxed.
‘He’ll be home tomorrow’ she said ‘From Syria’ she tacked it on looking to her father.
Now in the arrivals lounge that lunch felt as if it had happened a year ago. Her parents made her promise that she would come by with her man on Sunday for dinner. It had been a while since they had done that and secretly she was looking forward to a big family dinner; all of them would be there.
Luke stood up and stretched, checking his watch.
‘Do you want to make our way over to the gate? His flight should be landing in any minute.’ He asked.
‘I’m so excited to see him’ she admitted honestly.
They made their way over and stood with other family members and friends of other travelers on the same flight. So much joy happened here at these gates, she thought to herself. People’s longings finally fulfilled. Families brought together for the first time. Lovers torn apart by distance reunited once more. She could barely keep the smile off her face and noticed that Luke also was having a hard time keeping his under control. There were almost a hundred people of varying walks of life, races, colors, and religions, all waiting for the big opaque glass doors to burst open with a rush of wary and disheveled travelers. A quietness blanketed the waiting crowd, whose eyes were collectively fixed on those doors. The big board reported that the flight had landed safely twenty seven minutes ago. That information in and of itself set Her at ease and she thought to herself that Luke felt the same way, though to speak of it would be ill-fated and so neither of them did.
The silence was shattered by the roar of the opaque doors breaking open, the crowd rejoicing audibly in a Babylonian cacophony of greetings. Necks and heads strained to see the faces of loved ones and when people found their own from the faces in the crowd, luggage was dropped and tears of happiness ran down smiling cheeks, running to one another, unable to believe their doubtful eyes until the physicality of a long awaited embrace confirmed it.
Luke thought he saw him twice but was mistaken and each time Her heart rose and fell in complete disappointment. The reunited groups slowly took their leave with stories of their travels already being told. Mothers kissed their grown children repeatedly on the cheek as if they were still small and young. The flow through the doors was thinning and she began to feel the pang of terror rise up from the pit of her stomach. Even Luke was now looking concerned and looking frantically about in search of his brother.
‘Where is he!’ she demanded her voice riddle with a combination of bafflement and fear.
‘He has to be here. He probably just got caught up at customs. You know how much gear he travels with,’ Luke said, unable to even convince himself. Before they knew it they were the last two waiting. The place was desolate. She was trying desperately to hold back the need to ball her eyes out. Luke was now walking around looking for someone to speak with.
‘We have to speak with someone from the airline!’ she called after Luke.
They walked forever trying to get to the airline’s guest services desk. Luke could barely explain the situation clearly, dealing with horrible thoughts, so She took over. She somehow found the strength to remain clam enough to explain the situation to the woman at the desk, whose politeness was that of an SS guard. She picked up the phone and made a call then told Her and Luke that they would have to wait.
‘Wait!’ Luke raised his voice, ‘My bother was supposed to be on that flight!’
‘Sir, raising your voice will accomplish nothing’ the woman stated plainly. ‘If you’ll just have a seat someone will be with you in a few minutes’
Helplessness.
Luke fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his brother over and over, each time getting his voicemail. The minutes passed like millenniums. She felt sick. This could not be happening. Her mind started playing out the worst possible scenarios as to why he would not have been on that plane. Why he was not answering his phone or hadn’t in three days. She wanted to die.
Finally a balding man in a company blazer and holding a clipboard approached them. She had to consciously keep from vomiting. Luke’s face went ghost white.
The man introduced himself and she could barely hear a word the man said for the screams ringing out in her mind. He asked for His name and flight info then flapped through the pages on his clipboard, going over them twice, then dropping it down to his side.
‘I’m sorry, but he was not on this flight’ the man said with something like relief in his voice.
Luke threw his arms into the air shouting ‘What the Fuck!’ and the man seemed to scare by this reaction.
‘I’m sorry but according to the flight manifest he never boarded the plane. I’m sorry’ the man said. ‘There really isn’t anything else we can do. Perhaps contact his hotel or the people he was staying with,’ he offered nicely.
Why hadn’t she done that, she thought to herself. Refusing to cry she forced herself to focus on that. She had the information jotted down on a post-it note on the fridge.
‘Luke, we have to get to my place. I have the hotel information’ she said purposefully to Luke who was now pacing in circles. She thanked the man, grabbed Luke by the arm and made a dash to her car.
‘Meet me at my place’ she told Luke as they parted. She felt like they were in some awful race. A dream she wanted to wake up from. She pictured Him sitting in their kitchen, where she would find him when she got home, then like the awful nightmare this was turning out to be she pictured him dead, his body lifeless, limbs at unnatural angles in some foreign country, alone. She started her car and couldn’t control anything any longer. That image would not go away and finally the tears broke through which she couldn’t wipe away fast enough.
Just get home. Just get home.
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