Arizona Part 1

So I recently visited the girl of my dreams in Arizona. I was nervous for two weeks preceding the trip, you could see my heart pounding through my shirt for the week before my flight. The night before I flew out I had my nightly call with her, then dutifully went to bed at ten. And tossed. And turned. And did breathing exercises. And utterly failed to fall asleep. Some appliance in the house was beeping every half hour. I kept thinking it would stop but every half hour it went off again. I got up at 4:15 after a little over an hour of sleep

My mom dropped me off at the airport and I went to find my gate. I was afraid if I fell asleep I'd miss my flight so I sat and read for the hour until we boarded. As I approached the flight attendant with my ticket I started having a massive yawn that I failed to hide behind my hand. She gave me a particularly condescending smile. "Are you flying alone today?" I nodded, finishing up my yawn and giving her a sleepy smile in response. "How old are you?" I blinked at her and then my stare got colder. She thought I was an unaccompanied minor. "23" I said  and took a sadistic pleasure in watching her face go blank. I do wonder what age she would have found believable. I think 14-16 would have her convinced.

On the flight my heart rate picked up. It's a two hour flight from Seattle to Phoenix, and I was so keyed up. Normally since I'm so tiny it's easy to pull down the tray table in front of me and lay on it. But a lot of planes in our airport got shrunk a bit, so it was possible to lay like that only with some creative bending. I pulled one leg up on the chair with me, and tucked it up under one thigh, pillowing my head onto my arms, neck curved to fit. I had my headphones on and the people behind me, thinking I couldn't hear, made several comments about my elasticity and the probability of my being a gymnast.

For your ease in understanding, the tray is in beige

I gave up after a while, and pulled out a granola bar I'd brought. It was chocolate, and rich. I don't generally eat in the mornings because my stomach is a tyrant, so I waited until I knew I was hungry. Shortly after finishing my bar I began to realize I'd made a mistake. My stomach started curdling and I could feel myself getting paler, which let me tell you, is hard. I pulled out my book and insisted to my stomach that I was fine. I insisted pretty successfully for about 45 minutes, and then the dry heaves started. Like contractions, I can never tell when my body is serious unless the heaves exceed two within the same minute. I waited, my gorge rising intermittently. Finally I admitted defeat, and turned to look at the men beside me. The one closest to me was a very well dressed East Indian man, sleeping. I caught the eye of the man on the aisle seat, who looked up at me from his laptop. Afraid to open my mouth I made a sitting up motion and he smiled nicely, packing his laptop and a notebook up and standing.

I eeled my way over the sleeping gentleman and said a quiet thank you to the laptop man. I lurched with the airplanes motions causing glares and stern looks down the aisles as I hurried to the bathrooms in the back. The next part was awful. I had a love song Taylor had given me going in one ear while I lost the small contents of my stomach and all I could think was that I'd wanted our first kiss to be perfect but now I'd taste like bile. Afterward I felt vaguely ashamed, having never thrown up from air travel before. I staggered out and looked imploringly at the flight attendants in the very back. "May I have some water please?" One looked inclined to say no and I put on my best puppy dog eyes, but after all they must have heard me puking and weren't that cruel. They sent me on my way with a cup.



I stumbled my way a little more slowly back to my seat. The laptop man saw me and stood up right away, he'd clearly been waiting for me. I gave him a queasy smile and started trying to clamber over the sleeping man's knees. My legs were less steady and I accidentally brushed his nice pinstripe pants with my scruffy converse and he woke up to glare at me and wipe pointedly at the invisible dirt.



Finally we landed and took our leave. I never know where to go when I get off planes, so I generally pick someone to follow who looks like they know where they're going. As Cowboy Bebop taught me: if you see a stranger, follow him.  This time it was laptop man. He kept glancing back and seeing me a little behind and to his left but I looked away innocently every time. We got spat out in baggage claim. I'd been keeping my eyes peeled for Taylor, sure she's be right at the gate waiting but I made it to baggage claim without a sign of her. Finally, very aware that I looked twelve and lost, I sent her a text saying where I was.



She called me up. "What terminal are you in?" I looked around for numbers and reported unhelpfully that the door said it was door 6. She said no, the terminal. Hating to disappoint I headed back inside and looked at all the signs. They said baggage claim and which way to gates, but no terminal numbers. She demanded that I ask someone and I looked around for someone to ask. There didn't seem to be anyone until I spied two security guards at ease chatting. I approached timidly, "Excuse me? Which terminal is this?" They told me I had the pleasure of being in terminal two and Taylor swore. I asked where she was and she admitted it might be a bit of a walk, apologizing that she hasn't been there to meet me.  We stayed on the phone as she made the walk and I frequently looked up and down the walkways trying to see her coming. After a while she went silent on the phone. I asked if she'd lost the connection and turned to look down the walkway to see her standing behind me grinning. I pinned her in a hug and laughingly we set off, my hand slipping easily into hers as we tried to pretend we both weren't nervous.