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Velocity. |
| Written by Nunyo Bidness | |
| Saturday, 14 June 2008 | |
 The man arrives at the terminal at 12:53 PM. Jet lag and exhaustion shows on his eyes, creeps down his body through the wrinkles and folds in his clothes, and drips into a puddle that weigh his black shoes down. One shoelace is tied, the other is unraveling as he takes his first steps in seven hours. The man is tired, haggard, and hollow.The girl is in one of the many chairs that line the lobby. The chairs are rigid with beaten blue apholstry standing in stark contrast to the bits of gleam in her grin. Her shoes are red like christmas lights. They match her purse, her purse matches her earrings, her earrings match her ring, her ring matches her lipstick. The girl's blue eyes scan the lobby and the only two gates that seem to be active. In case he called, she holds her cell phone in her hand so she was positive that she wouldn't miss it. With the other hand, she holds her heart. Between her fingers, she held a pin. She has never been so ready to put it on her sleeve. The man steps through the gate and smells the city for the first time. He smells skyscrapers and public transportation, 5% tips, taxicabs, billboards, men that can't afford shoes and men wearing suits. A thousand faces have passed him getting here, and a thousand more will pass him in the next five minutes. But he is too tired for this. The man is just looking for one when he breaks through the crowd. The girl drops her phone into her pocket and her feet move so fast that they almost lose her shoes. She glides with open arms towards him and the hug is a soft one, but a long one. "I'm so glad you came." The man inhales and the lobby pours into his eyes like the first sip of a cup of coffee. "This is a hell of a change," the man says. "Aren't you glad you're here?" "Yes." He picks up his luggage, a simple black bag he bought specifically for this trip. "This city is different than what I'm used to." "I'm glad you're here. Baby, we need to go to my mother's house. She hasn't met you yet. Neither has my father. We should get you a suit. There is a place where we can get one on the way home." Out of the terminal window a plane is landing on the runway. Past that, there is a large river that separate the airport from downtown. The horizon is a bar graph of skyscrapers. They sit at uniform height with a few exceptions, and the only thing that distinguishes one from the other are the slightly different shades of grey that color the sides. "I haven't seen anything like this before." "You should get used to it. You'll be here for awhile." The man watches a child perched on his fathers shoulders. The child is smiling and getting onto a flight that's going somewhere. "I wonder if he's going to his grandparents. He looks about that age." "What are you talking about?" "The kid over there. He reminds me of my nephew. He's that age, you know." "Yeah. Yeah, he looks like that. Listen," the girl says, putting her hand on the man's shoulder and starting towards the parking lot, "we've got to get that suit and things before lunch. We're eating at a prompt three. It's one now so we need to go." "I'm going to get some coffee," the man says. "There is a place right there." The man gets in line with the black bag in his hand. The girl is tugging at his shoulder and her eyes fill with silicon worry. He's wearing tan shorts, a white tee shirt, and a baseball cap with sunglasses perched on the brim. He exhales. The plane he watched earlier hooks up to the dock and another flight unloads into the lobby. "Honey," the girl says, "we need to get out of here. Can't we just get coffee later? I'll make some at my parents house. We need to go." He waits, speechless, while the three people in front of him order coffee that he is unfamiliar with. They have whipped cream and espresso and caramel in their drinks. It is his turn. "I'd like a medium, straight black," the man says, pulling out his wallet. "Please." "A tall?," the cashier says. "A medium." "The Tall is a medium." "Than the medium." The cash register rings up a tall regular in bright green letters against a black screen. It costs two dollars and twenty-seven cents. He gives the cashier three and puts the change in the tip jar. The coffee isn't bad. "Can we get out of here now, baby? I'll get a cab. Have you ever even been in a cab?" "No." The man and the girl pass a thousand faces, and only the man notices. Some have scars, some don't. Some have children in hand, and some were too young to think about them yet. "You're too used to bright lights and runways," the man says. Copyright 2008 Nunyo Bidness |
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