“And are you travelling for business, or pleasure, miss?”
Maria went to say something, then stopped, then realised she’d stopped awkwardly, and blushed. “Pl - er - busi - er - health reasons” she finally finished on. She blushed again. She hadn’t expected any to ask her about her trip, so she hadn’t even thought about what to say. She’d been trying not to think about it at all.
The clerk at the desk simply smiled glassily, not even hearing the reply. “Great. Well, here’s your boarding pass. Gate 13. Have a nice day.”
Once again, something within her flinched as if from a brittle slap of a wooden ruler. She felt a lump in her throat. No, she thought. I am not going to cry. I am not going to throw up. I am going to get on this plane. I can do this.
As she walked up the stairs, she realised how lucky she was now that she was in the airport. Now, chickening out and running home was the difficult option, the unprogrammed one. Now she was walking the expected path, and her fears could easily be controlled with the expectation to be normal.
The plane was cool and dim, a false twilight world easily exposed as fake when compared to the bleak, pure darkness of the pre-dawn visible through the windows. The snow would be here soon, she thought, staring out at the night. Perhaps in a few days. Maybe, when she returned, her street would be aglow with whiteness, and the air would smell only of Christmas. And when Christmas came, then everyone would be there, and everything would be just like always, and with the presents, and the tree and all the stupid tradition, it would all be OK again. Her parents would hug her and tell her they loved her, and they’d never have to know about any of this, and everything would be fine. It would be gone and forgotten, and she’d never have to tell them the truth.
Sometimes, she had wanted to tell them, but she knew she never could. She wasn’t afraid of what they might do, she just knew they couldn’t face it. They didn’t talk about these sorts of things, so they didn’t happen. And they really didn’t - everything worked, and nothing bad ever really happened. And everyone was happy. She wanted to keep it that way.
She swallowed again, holding the tears back with all her strength. She prayed for the plane to start moving, because then it really would be too late. She couldn’t change her mind once the plane took off.
The flight wasn’t long, and she lost herself in the movies, and the stupid magazines. It wasn’t until the they started coming into land, that her fears came screaming back, But now it was all in motion. Nothing to do but to follow the letter. Get out of the plane, get your baggage, get a taxi, go to the address. The city might be big and strange, but it was the same thing you did anywhere when you came out of an airport, the same thing everyone did. It was all very simple, very easy. She didn’t need anyone.
The hospitals weren’t an option, of course, not for someone as young as her. She handed the driver the card her friend had given her. A private clinic, someone called Dr Michaels. Her friend had said her cousin had been here, and they were very good, very kind and caring. They would look after her, make sure everything was OK. It would be simple, and quick, and then everything would be better again. But as the taxi sped on, she realised she didn’t believe that. She didn’t think anything could make it better. Then the fear grew anew in her, building like a force, and though she stared hard out the window at the passing streets, biting her lip and clenching her fists, she could not stop the sobs quietly shuddering through her chest, and the first few tears burning down her skin.
She didn’t know how long the drive took; all she knew was emptiness and the taste of salt on her lips until the driver broke her reverie with the announcement of their arrival. Without looking at him, she held out the money and then slid out the door.
She looked up at the small brown brick building. It was small and rectangular, and seemed so bland and homely that she instantly hated it. She wanted something sterile, efficient, a machine of science, and this wasn’t it. But there was no other choice. She was here, and there was only one thing to do: walk along the path, around the corner and in the front door. It was all she had to do. And then it would be over.
She was halfway there when she saw them, standing as they always were, everywhere. There was only a few - no more than half a dozen, but they were enough. The path she had to walk down had once been the expected action, the simple, automatic choice. Now it was a gauntlet of shouts and signs, a path of fear, of guilt, of impossibility. She saw their attentions beginning to drift towards her, and knew in a moment they would swoop, charging her, hindering her, preventing her, stopping her. She froze in mid-step, her fear making her head throb and her joints ache. The path was now cut off, closed to her forever, and in one crashing motion, everything in her collapsed.
In a wild panic, she turned and ran, arms whipping around her, tears blinding her, not caring about anything but getting away, to get it behind her, away from her, just running and running and running…not thinking, not looking, not seeing as she tore across the road, as the bus just couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down, couldn’t help but crush the life out of her in one sickening wet thud, and then it was over.