The Airport

She disembarked the plane, feeling Florida's humid air seeping through the jetway's cracks. She walked briskly down the dimly lit ramp, examining every bolt and screw attaching each section of the hallway. She wondered what would happen if, one by one, they popped off of their attachments. She watched the bridge crumble behind her, the dust of the remains brushing  her shoes with dust and grime. She continued on. The smell of human filth and sterilization hit her as she stumbled into the crowded gate. She had a goal now, a search for something important. Rolling of suitcases, the cries of babies, and murmurs of conversation all consumed her. Although the bustle irked her, she decided to pursue her hunt. Her eyes swept the gate, observing the wheelchairs lined in the corners, and the benches near the middle of the room, but what she was looking for could not be found in the dusty faux leather of those seats.

Although she only had a small backpack she used for her carry-on, she made her way to the luggage claim. Perhaps she could find it there. Bags ambled slowly on the rotating conveyor belts, each one passing while people stared at it looking for their own. The rumbles of each one falling, hitting the plastic bumpers of the conveyor belt shook her. She moved away from the luggage. It was not there either. She continued on. Her feet no longer moved. Something else was moving her. “The moving walkway is coming to an end. Please watch your step.” A monochromatic voice said. She continued on. She reached a line of shops and restaurants. The chatter here was much louder than it was at the gate. Although all the noise bothered her, she continued on. Her thing could not be found in a loud, busy place. 

She came upon a quiet, cushy area. It was here. She found it. She opened her bag to find the toothbrush and toothpaste she always kept in her backpack. Her only worry now was to find a bathroom. All she wanted was to rest, but that could not be done until her routine was completed. She went into a bathroom, brushed her teeth and hair, and washed herself the best she could. She could now rest.

Back in her quiet place, with a sign labeled first class lounge on the door, she set up her bed. In an armchair, she laid a little blanket. She curled up and did the best she could to fall asleep, despite the urging thought of where she could rest tomorrow. There was no home she could go back to, except for what she made here. She fell into a fitful sleep until she was woken by a sound.

“Miss, you can’t sleep here.”