The offensively white interior of the airport contains the essence of its host city, Las Vegas. There is constant noise and light; bells, toots, whizzes. Neon lights, fluorescent lights, incandescent lights, flashes. One can tell where the airport�s locale without looking out the windows.
At gate 17A, the large group of people lets out a collective sigh. Men and women pick up their books and periodicals, some head for the bathrooms or vending machines. None appear happy with waiting.
In the crew lounge, the pilot and copilot sit at a low table, sipping black coffee.
�It just has to be the last flight of the night that gets delayed, doesn�t it? Why don�t they just cancel it?� the copilot says.
�Really. It would be better off that way. The passengers are going to be grumpy. Not to mention the stewardesses.�
They both laugh, but the conversation stops there. They try not to say too much, saving their stories for the flight ahead of them. It�s late anyway; neither of them is in the mood for a chat.
Jonathan and his mother sit quietly at the gate, waiting for his flight to board. He shifts uncomfortably in the plastic bucket seat. She sits still and overly upright in hers. Although the flight has been delayed for over an hour now, they know that it should be boarding shortly. With nothing to say, they watch the people around them.
There is a young woman pacing the gate, holding a baby on her hip. She seems caught up in her own thoughts. She may be worried about getting to her destination on time, now that the flight is late. Across the way, in front of the check in counter, a middle age couple is squabbling with the agent on the other side. Probably trying to tough their way into first class.
Jonathan points to a man sitting two rows over from them. His mother eyes a person walking by, and then directs her attention to where her son is pointing.
�Maybe I should bring Aunt Lynn and Scott some of those,� Jonathan says.
The man he is pointing at is clean-shaven and slightly plump. He is wearing a colorful shirt and khaki shorts. A box of Krispy Kremes sits in his lap.
�Leave your aunt and cousin alone.� She looks at the man again, and struggles to hold back a smile. She knows for a fact that Lynn loves Krispy Kremes, they�re part of the cause of her sister�s weight problem. �And be good, don�t be causing any problems.�
�Relax Mom,� he says. �They live on a farm. How much trouble could I get into?� Jonathan shakes his head and crosses his arms, repositioning himself in the hard plastic seat.
�Knowing you? Too much.�
�C�mon Mom, I�m not that bad. Admit it, I�m not.�
She leans closer to him. �There is a reason I�m sending you to your aunt�s.� She lets out a short laugh so he knows she�s pulling his chain.
�I�ll remind you that it was my idea. I�m sure that working on a farm will be much more interesting than being a janitor.�
�You better work seriously too,� she says, �and save your money. I�m not planning on paying all of your tuition. That is, if you plan on going back to college.�
Jonathan rolls his eyes and pulls his boarding pass from his chest pocket. He bends the corner of it over with his thumb.
�Just be good for her, please?�
�Yeah, Mom. I�ll be on my best.�
They turn their heads toward the couple at the ticket counter. They are still there, and still arguing. The woman drops her bag to the ground roughly and unzips it. The man looks as if he�s feeling a boiling mixture of embarrassment and contempt. For the woman, or the ticket agent, Jonathan and his mother cannot tell.
Barbara rummages through her carry-on one last time. Not finding what she is looking for, because she knows it�s not there, she stands up and turns to her husband.
�Mark, I don�t think you gave the tickets to me. They�re not in my bag,� she says.
�Well, they sure as hell aren�t in my briefcase. Where else would I put them?� He looks at her with an exaggerated questioning look on his face. The one he gives her to try to make her feel dumb.
�Maybe if you weren�t talking on your cell phone while we were getting ready to go, you wouldn�t have lost them.�
Twenty years ago she would have been near tears at this point. How she has made it as long as she has with Mark, she isn�t sure, or even why. She tries not to think about their marriage anymore as she takes a deep breath and calms herself.
�Why don�t you check your briefcase again?� she asks him.
He lets out a little humph as he sets his case on the check-in counter. The lady behind it is doing a very good job of keeping her temper. Luckily, there is no one in line behind them. Most people don�t wait until the last minute to check in, and now, with it being more than an hour past departure time, even the stragglers have come and gone.
Mark�s briefcase makes a sharp double click as it pops open. He begins rummaging through sorted pockets of papers.
Barbara doesn�t even want to go on the trip. It�s their shrink�s idea. Take a little trip, not too far away, so that they can relax together. Maybe lick the festering wound of their marriage. Of course, Mark finds a way to make their getaway into a business trip for him. The only licking he�ll be doing is of salt on his margarita while at a luncheon meeting.
It�s not as if she hates her husband. It�s just that he takes himself and his job much too seriously. All that she has left at the end of a workday is a worn down carcass. And, their sex life reflects that.
�My job is important. This trip is very important,� Mark argues. He pulls his laptop out and searches the bottom of the briefcase. �I had some important business to finish up before we left. That�s why I was on the phone. You would know that if you could understand what I do at work. But, you don�t know how it is.�
Yeah, I do, she thinks. You�re going on a trip of important business, and that business isn�t your marriage.
Barbara notices a young woman walk by, carrying an infant. There is no ring on her left hand. Enjoy your freedom while you can.
�Ah, here they are,� Mark says, brandishing the tickets from the open maw of his laptop. �Huh, you must have set them there before I shut my computer.� He slaps the tickets on the counter. The check in lady picks them up and starts to type on her computer.
Georgia hefts sweet, little Bianca higher onto her hip. She tries not to wonder where their next meal will be coming from, things will get better when they get to Salt Lake City. Thank God she once again persuaded her mother to buy her plane tickets. As soon as they get there, she�ll fill Bianca right to the brim with nutritious foods. It�s bad enough that she doesn�t have the money to feed her baby, but on top of that she�s been wary of breast-feeding Bianca because of the new infection on her chest and nipples.
Georgia turns around and begins her short stroll to the other side of the gate. Damn plane�s delayed because of mechanical problems. How come it�s always mechanical problems, never anything more specific? The size of the waiting room is slowly beginning to feel more cramped. People around her are getting agitated. They�re shuffling in their seats more; getting up to wander around, just to find there�s nothing worth looking at and sitting back down again.
She glances at those around her. College student going away to school, grandparents going away to visit distant family, husband and wife going on vacation. Husband and wife. Husband.
If only that bastard of a father could only see his daughter now, underweight and tired. Sure, things weren�t great when she was living with him in that cursed trailer, but at least she had some food and a reliable shelter. Reliable in the sense that it was there night after night, not that it was weatherproof. They had spent many nights lying in a damp mattress while it stormed outside.
That was the past though, and now she�s moving on. Things are bound to turn around. She�ll move back in with her mother, clean up. After a while she�ll have a job, her own apartment. If Bianca�s father only knew that she�d turn things around as she�s going to, he wouldn�t have thrown her out when she got pregnant.
The airport echoes with the announcement that her flight is beginning to board. She resettles Bianca on her hip and heads toward the gate, stopping only to pick up her half-empty bag.
Jonathan puts the book he just bought into his backpack. He stands up, and throws the bag onto his shoulders. He turns to his mother and gives her a hug.
After a short moment, she gently pushes him away and looks him up and down. Taking in his looks, memorizing them. He�s grown into quite the handsome man. He�s six feet tall, and probably weighing close to two hundred pounds. But, it�s not fat. The muscles in his shoulders and on his chest bulge through his orange tee shirt. His face reminds her so much of his father, and just recently Jonathan grew out a goatee. Just like his dad.
She reminds herself that it�s just two weeks. He has stayed with his aunt for several summers in the past. He would be back before she knew it.
�I love you, Mom,� he says.
�See you in two weeks,� she answers.
They embrace in another quick hug, and then he�s off. She stands by the seats that they have been sitting in for the last three hours and watches her son creep slowly forward in the line of people. By the time he makes it to the front of the line, she can only see the top of his head.
�Seat twenty-seven C is on the left side, near the back,� the stewardess says. She hands the boarding pass back to Barry and points to the left aisle.
Barry takes the boarding pass and starts down the aisle. First thing he notices is that the C seats are on the aisle. That figures, he thinks, I�ll have people kicking my feet the whole flight, as they make their way to the lavatories.
Barry nearly bumps into the kid in front of him. Some punk wearing baggy pants, and a backwards Starter cap. He looks over the kid�s shoulder and sees a woman trying to shove an enormous carry-on bag into the overhead compartment. C�mon lady!
When the train of people finally resumes, Barry discovers his seat is in the next to last row and that a behemoth of a man is sitting in seat B. He sits down and awaits their departure.
He reflects on how quickly his one-week of paid vacation flew by, and how glad he is that it was a paid vacation. He probably blew a week�s worth of pay on the slots alone. Only fifty something more weeks of relentless crime fighting in sweet home Salt Lake City until he could return to Las Vegas.
Barry takes a Krispy Kreme from out the box he carried on with him, and takes a bite out of it. He offers one to the man beside him, and surprisingly he declines.
He thinks it pretty pathetic that he has nothing better to do than look forward to his next trip to Las Vegas. But, what else is a single cop supposed to look forward to? Getting shot at? Paperwork?
Barry�s stomach growls as nature calls him to the lavatory. He knew he shouldn�t have eaten so many of those damn Krispy Kremes before getting on the plane.
He stands up to go to the bathroom, but a stewardess passing by stops him by putting a hand on his chest.
�Sorry sir, we�re preparing to leave the gate. You�ll have to stay in your seat until we�ve taken off and the pilot turns off the Buckle Your Seat-belt sign.�
�Ah, but I have to go to the bathroom.�
�I�m sorry sir.�
Barry throws himself back into his seat, and grumbles to himself as he buckles his seat-belt.
This is going to be a long flight.
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