Amber Fallon [Fallon - The Terminal

THE TERMINAL

Amber Fallon

For John

and

For Brian & Mary

THE TERMINAL

Little Miss Yoga Pants was annoying the shit out of me. It was just before 7:00 AM on Tuesday December 23rd. I hadnt slept the night before. Hadnt showered. Hadnt shaved. My stomach had that hollow sort of empty feeling that comes with ignoring hunger pangs too long. To put it bluntly, I was a nervous wreck.

Dylan kept failing at trying to reassure me. He didnt know my family like I did. Or at least, like I had before they disowned me years ago. What would they think? What would they say? Would they make a scene, kick us out right on the spot? Disown me again? I wasnt sure. But none of it was going to stop me. Not the fear, not the doubt, not the idea of facing those people again, nothing. Dylan wanted this. It was important to him, and he was important to me. He was the only thing I can ever say made me feel whole, human, the way I always thought I was supposed to feel but somehow never did. I was addicted to that feeling. Healthy or not, thats how it was. Looking at Dylan made me feel like I was the person I had always aspired to be. Like maybe Id really reached my full potential. If someone like him could love me, maybe my family had been wrong after all. Maybe...

Maybe I was going to strangle that skinny little knock-kneed bitch with her own yoga pants. God, she needed to shut the fuck up. It was way too early in the morning for her incessant chattering. And who the hell was she talking to, anyway? It wasnt even seven oclock! Sane people were still be in bed, maybe having breakfast or a shower, maybe grabbing a quickie before heading to the office. Or maybe standing in line at the gate at OHare before heading home to introduce their boyfriend to the family they hadnt spoken to in close to ten years, the family that didnt even know they were gay.

I was doing my best to tune out the inane chattering, but unfortunately the only other thing there was to focus on at this time of year was Christmas music. A jazzy, saxophone rich rendition of Oh, Christmas Tree drifted from unseen speakers. Would my parents have a Christmas tree this year? Would they ask us to stay? Or would they see my face and throw home the deadbolt without even opening the door?

Tammy? Yoga Pants squawked. Tammy are you there? Tammy! Can you hear me? TAMMY! I didnt know who Tammy was, but I pitied her. Unless she was just like Yoga Pants, then I supposed she got what she deserved.

Ms. Pants let out an exasperated sigh and glared at her neon pink iPhone. What the fuck? How can I have no bars? Ugh! She turned it off and stuck it into a transparent plastic purse. I could see everything inside pretty clearly, which I thought was incredibly stupid. What if, for some inexplicable reason, I desired a nauseatingly pink iPhone? Id know right where to find one. And it wouldnt take much to overpower her, either. I could just reach out and...

She stood in front of me at Gate D 23, waiting to board the plane while absently fiddling with one of the many bits of metal in her ear. She wore, of course, a branded velour jacket that matched the afore mentioned yoga pants with the word PINK emblazoned over both her ass and her shoulder blades in six inch high letters. What kind of fashion statement was that? Yes, I could see that her clothes were pink. I had eyeballs that functioned. Maybe it was intended for the colorblind?

She was twisting from side to side, shuffling in her pink flip flops and tossing her bleach blonde over processed pony tail as she moved. A vision flashed into my headme, grabbing the ugly little top knot, yanking her off her feet, throwing her to the floor, and stomping on her until all that cheery bright pink turned blood red. In my vision, everyone around us panicked and cleared out, screaming like the crowds always do when theres a gunshot fired in some action movie. I smiled.

Whats so funny? Dylan asked at my elbow, having returned from the overpriced little convenience store at gate B16. He handed me a bottle of water and a bag of neon gummy wormsmy favorite. Nothing. I said, shaking my head to clear the gruesome little vision, Just day dreaming. Dylan smiled that quirky little smile of his, the one thats just a little lopsided in the most endearing way. I fell in love with him all over again right then and there. I felt better now that he was beside me. Even Little Miss Yoga Pants couldnt sour my mood. Much.

I picked up my bag as the line began to move. Dylan still wore his blue backpack slung over one shoulder. His wavy, carefully tousled sandy brown hair grazed the collar of his pale green polo, the neck open to showcase his leather cord and puka shell necklace, a souvenir from our trip to Hawaii the previous year. He was about a head shorter than my 510, with warm chocolate colored eyes and a complexion that never seemed far from sun kissed bronze, even in the dead of winter in Chicago, despite the fact that he never went tanning. Part of me hated him for that, just a little bit. I think maybe thats the real secret to a great and lasting lovea tiny bit of jealousy or hatred, just to keep things interesting.

He grinned at me. So, what do you think theyre gonna say when we ring the doorbell on Christmas Eve? he asked. I shook my head. I shudder to think. I said, barely covering the nerves belying my joking tone. Aw, come on. Dylan soothed, rubbing my bicep, Im sure it wont be that bad. I mean, whats the worst they can do? Kick you out? They already did that. The way I see it, they cant exactly hate you more, can they? I had to admit there was a certain logic to it. No, I guess they couldnt. Dylans signature smile quirked up at me once more. See? he asked, What have you got to lose?

Ahead of us, Yoga Pants flipped her pony tail aggressively as she turned towards the window, nearly brushing the straw-like clump of beauty products against my face. I was about to open my mouth and tell her where she could stick her pretty pink iPhone when I felt Dylans hand on my arm. Yoga Pants had gasped during the hair flip, but I didnt think much of it after a nanoseconds worth of annoyance. Only now did I notice that a collective silence had fallen over the airport, a busy space that had been bustling and noisy only moments before. I directed my gaze towards the huge windows designed to let passengers watch airplanes arrive and depart. What I saw took my breath away.

There was an airplane headed for the tarmac at an off angle, its nose too far down for it to have any hope of recovering before it collided with the runway, which it was approaching much too quickly for it to have been intentional. Ignoring all of that, the plane was corkscrewing in a downward spiral its captain couldnt possibly bring it out of in time for any kind of survivable landing. As I stood, slack jawed and staring, my eyes roved over the rapidly descending aircraft as if I were subconsciously trying to memorize every detail. Maybe so Id have something to tell the pretty reporter woman who was sure to want to interview me as an eyewitness at some point. As the plane spiraled, the side that had been facing away from me came into view. It was missing its wing, gone as if it had been snapped off by some monstrously-sized child playing Godzilla. Where the wing should have been was a smoldering car-sized hole, spewing a plume of fire capped in a long ribbon of greasy black smoke that trailed into the sky.

The crowd seemed transfixed, hypnotized almost, staring at the impending doom of whoever was on board. We all seemed to be holding our collective breath as if some kind of magical thinking might help to avert the catastrophe we were sure to bear witness to, like a sports fan wearing his favorite unwashed shirt to every home game. Then Yoga Pants screeched, breaking the spell and sending everything into chaos. Goddamn, she was annoying even in a crisis situation. Her piercing shriek was like some kind of signal to everyone else. People screamed, cried, and ran for cover seconds before the plane hit the ground, exploding in a ball of gas and fire, sending the glass in those gigantic windows towards us like pretty little gems of shrapnel.