Short Story- The Terminal 11/23

 

The Terminal 

By Katherine Lawless 

All life had been sucked out of the skyline. The floor to ceiling windows of the airport looked out onto a world coated in night. No moon, nor stars, nor runway lights broke through the void. It was quiet in the airport. Red-eye fliers stifled yawns. Footsteps echoed off linoleum flooring. People murmured nothings to each other as the AC whirred. Rope barriers cut off the natural flow of traffic, siphoning people into single file lines, funneling them off towards big desks which sat beneath big screens which told them to go wait somewhere else. And these poor souls, seeing their inevitable fate, would shuffle away, slumping their shoulders and murmuring some more, wandering in the in-between.

Helena sat with her legs propped up on her rollie backpack. Her chair was about as comfortable as airport seating could get. Somewhere in the cushion a staple was loose. It pricked her. She did not move. She was too close to rest. Her body was asleep. Her eyelids drooped all heavy, kept open only by the flickering fluorescent bulb above her. And the staple.

 

She was drifting in and out of a wonderful dream. She’s in a taxi on the way to the airport. Golden hour sunlight streams in through the window. The rolling hills through which she drives are haloed by the setting sun. The wind emits a soft whistle through the cracked window. She’s on the phone. She can hear the laughter of her little girl. Helena is smiling. In a few hours she will be home. She’ll get to see her husband. She’ll get to hold her girl. The whistling noise grows louder and louder. She can’t hear her little girl anymore. Helena frowns. The driver turns onto the off ramp.

 

She woke up.

Three seats to her left sat a disheveled man in a gray jumpsuit. He was staring at the ceiling. He was whistling. There was a large dark splotch on his side, a stain, still wet and seeping.

 “Bad dream?” asked the whistler. He shifted and some of the wetness got on his arm.

“No,” Helena said, “it was pretty nice actually.” The staple stuck her. She grimaced.

The man nodded, clicking his tongue. “I like your necklace.”

 Helena glanced at him, then down at the locket that rested at the top of her low-cut shirt. She narrowed her eyes.

“Thank you.” She touched it gently, covering it and her chest.

“What’s in it?”

“A picture of my daughter. And husband.”

The man reached towards his crotch. Helena’s life flashed before her eyes. He only pulled out his wallet. He showed her a worn polaroid of a woman and a pair of twin girls. They stood smiling on a runway, faces full of big toothy grins.

 “I don’t have anything as fancy as a locket, but…”

Helena let out a breath and leaned back in her chair. The staple stuck her again. She chose to ignore it.

“How old’s your daughter?” he asked.

“She turns five tomorrow, I’m catching the red eye to make it.”

The whistler only hummed in response.

A buzzing noise started. Helena looked up to see a moth stuck in the light above her. It kept knocking on the glass, desperately trying to push its way out. It was drowning in searing white light.

“Are you going somewhere?” Helena heard herself asking.

“No,” he said, “I just thought I’d stay here for a while.”

Helena laughed. “No, really. Home? Work? Vacation?”

“Somewhere warmer than this.”

“I have a jacket if-”

He shook his head.

“When’s your flight?” she asked.

“In a while.”

“Long layover?”

“Feels like it's been going on forever.”

She laughed. “I know what you mean. My flight’s in half an hour but I’ve been here for five. Finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Eh, you’ll be here awhile.” He picked off a piece of drying junk off his side and flung it at the carpet. The moth banged on the light case. Helena just looked at him. “You’ll- your flight- it’s not leaving in half an hour.”

“My ticket would beg to disagree.”

“No,” he shook his head, “your flight’s going to be delayed.”

“Oh, do you work here?” she considered his jumpsuit.

“No-”

“Okay. Then,” the staple stuck in further, “I’m leaving in half an hour.”

He shook his head “No, -”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” she got no response, “why wouldn’t I leave?” He just stared at her, eyes scanning her face, a face contorted in worry. “I’m flying out. Tonight. I’m making my daughter’s birthday. I’m going to be there.”

The moth quieted down for a moment. It let itself feel the warmth of the light that had seemed so appealing before. It took in the idea of the case. Staying in the case. Being stuck in the case.

It slammed itself against the glass.

“Ask the person at the desk about your flight.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need to. I’m leaving.”

The moth twitched. It stopped moving.

“Just ask.” Helena and the man locked eyes. His bored into hers. They pleaded. They begged. She was stuck by them. Pinned.

Helena got up. She got up and she grabbed her bag and her suitcase. She got up and began to walk, past seating, past carpet, and into the fray. Bodies were scattering in every direction. Some ran from terminal to terminal, desperate to make flights. Others meandered with no true direction. Helena drove herself through elbows and shoulders, swayed by the current of ambling travelers. She couldn’t see the reception desk over the heads of the listless. She couldn’t read the departure list above the desk. She pushed and shoved and cut until her palms hit the desk.

The empty desk.

The desk with no one there.

The desk with no attendant, no understanding soul to reassure her.

A chime sounded.

Helena craned her neck up towards the screen, exposing her throat. Her flight had been delayed.

She faced the stream once more.

 

She was dreaming again. She knew she was dreaming.

Sunlight streams in through her window. The light no longer halos beautiful rolling hills, instead it halos the solid concrete overpasses of the I-70. Cars fly past left and right. Some idiot driver is blaring his born at an asshole long gone. She has a headache.

Her husband is on the phone. He keeps sighing, asking her this and that- had she gotten a present this time, had she double checked the flight information, how soon would she be leaving again. Helena hears her own voice, sharp and exhausted, bite back in response. She checks her phone for the time, there are ten more emails to respond to. David repeats himself. David is always whining about repeating himself.

Helena feels her lungs expand, feels herself forcing herself to draw in a deep breath, feels the guilt sink in. She hears herself reassuring that yes, she’ll be there; yes, she has a present; not to worry. Don’t worry, it’ll be a great birthday, she is so excited. She was so excited. The driver merges into the off ramp. A horn blares.

Something pricks her.

 

She woke up.

 

Beside her an old woman was engrossed in an article. On the table next to her was a huge stack of Time Magazines and a Diet Coke. The woman licked her finger and turned the page.

Helena massaged her temple. Delayed. For how much longer? An hour? Five? God, why now? Why to her? She checked her watch. It was verging on 6:00 am. Lainey would turn five today. All her kindergarten friends would be coming over for the party later. David had rented a bouncy castle. There would be balloons and streamers and a pinata. There would be confetti, sheet cake with princesses on it. There would be big stacks of gifts. There would be clean up. David and her would have gotten to march around with big trash bags, laughing at how gross kids could be. Helena would have gotten to pick up a thousand candy wrappers and colorful bits of tissue paper. She would have made small talk with the bouncy castle company, told them all about how much havoc the party had been. They wouldn’t have cared. She would have been smiling. She would have gotten to watch Lainey play with her new toys. She would have gotten to watch Lainey blow out her candles and make a wish.

Helena sighed. She shook her leg unconsciously.

“Do you mind?” asked the old woman.

Helena blinked at her before connecting the dots. “Oh yeah! So sorry about that.” A squeaking noise that had been coming from the chair stopped as soon as she stilled her leg. Helena glanced at the old woman and her magazine. “What are you reading?”

The lady glanced up with a coy smile, “Would it be shameful to admit I just like looking at the pictures.”

Helena laughed softly, “No, not at all. I’m the same way.”

“It’s just that I don’t know where I set my glasses in my bag, and the text, it’s too small.”

“I get it, really,” she said. “How long have you been waiting for?” Helena asked.

The woman took a long sip of her Diet Coke. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“If you had to guess.”

“Well, pretty long I suppose.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know, a few hours, maybe more.”

“Layover?”

“Small delay.”

Helena nodded. “Are you on the flight to Portland?”

“Hmm?”

“Portland? Are you flying there?”

“Oh. No. Albuquerque.”

“Albuquerque, huh?”

“Mhm.”
            “Do you know what the delay is for?”

The woman laughed. “You think I know?”

“You didn’t ask?”

The woman took another long sip. “I’m too tired to stand in a line that long.” She flipped the page.

“How long did you say your delay was?” Helena asked again. She got no response.

“I’ve been delayed for two days.” Helena turned, sitting behind her was a teen boy with a mullet and an earring and sleep in his eyes. He was alone.

“What?”

            “I’ve been delayed for two days.”

            “What!”

            “I keep trying to ask about it but either no one’s there or I’ve given a food voucher, or I’m told it’ll be fixed and then it isn’t.” The boy alone had his arms crossed tight, holding a hoodie to his chest like a teddy bear.

            “Why not?”

            “Fuck if I know. Weather or something.”

            “It’s not even raining.” Helena looked at the black windows.

            The boy hugged his hoodie tighter. “I heard that storms from miles away can affect like- radio signals, so that- you know the pilots? They have to talk to the people on the ground, so if they can’t then… then they can’t fly.”

            “Have you talked to your parents? Are they with you? -”

            “You know what I’m talking about?”

            “What?”

            “The signals and the weather and stuff?”

            “No.”
            “Oh, well that’s probably why it’s been delayed.” The boy alone yawned.

            “Are you on the flight to Portland?” Her eyes scanned the crowd for his parents.

            “No,” he said, “I’m going home.”

 

            The clock on the wall hit 8:30. There was no sun over the horizon. There was no horizon. It was still black out. The receptionists had returned, the lines inched along indefinitely. The poor souls were finally being redirected to different gates, to waiting areas, to bathrooms, to food courts. Helena stood near the front of the line. The man in front of her was droning on and on about possible food poisoning. He felt lethargic, he kept getting headaches, he felt like something was wrong. The receptionist asked if his stomach was upset. He said it was fine. She said it probably wasn’t food poisoning. He said he didn’t know what else it could be. Helena checked the time. The receptionist said it could be a cold and offered to point him towards their fantastic medicinal selection in the shops near the food court. He said he didn’t trust anything near that place. Helena huffed. She tapped her shoe. The receptionist smiled and nodded. She said she understood completely. He wanted to know when he would feel better. She said she wasn’t sure. She said on behalf of the company, she was very sorry. He said he wanted a refund. She said they didn’t offer those. She gave him a food court voucher.

            Every tick of the clock was another second closer to failure. Helena thought about calling. She thought about reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone and admitting to her husband they would once again have to settle for her late presence.

            The man with food poisoning grumbled and left. Helena stepped forward.

            Behind the desk were three women. They had perfect blonde curls and hard blue eyes and glossy lips that stretched taut over white teeth that glinted. They wore blue flight attendant uniforms. They sat with their back straight and ankles crossed. The one on the left clacked away at her keyboard, consumed by blue screen light. The one on the right was talking to another customer. The center one, who had been dealing with the man, ushered Helena closer.

“Hi, how may I help you today?”

“I’d like to check the status of my flight.”

“Of course! What’s the flight number?”

“384.”

“384…”

“To Portland.”

“To Portland…” The one on the left clacked away.

“I know it was delayed, but- it’s been a few hours, so- I wanted to check in.”

“Of course! Of course! I getcha, it happens all the time.”

The receptionist to her right was placating a man on the verge of tears. She handed him a tissue and pointed him towards the nearby seats. He didn’t move.

“So…”

“Right. So- flight’s still delayed.” She gave Helena an apologetic smile.

“Right. But for how long?”

“Oh, of course, of course. We, you understand, don’t choose how long the delays last.”

“But you’re supposed to know when my flight will leave.”

“Right, right, right, well- depends on the weather.”

“Right now. Based on right nows conditions. When will my flight leave?”

“Again ma’am- the weather-”

“What weather.”

“The weather outside!” The attendant laughed. The man next to Helena wanted to be put in a hotel. They didn’t offer that kind of thing.

“I want to switch flights,” said Helena.

“Oh, I’m so sorry but no other flights are going toward Oregon right now.”

“None.”

“That’s right.”

“To all of Oregon.”

“Mhm.”

“I will pay.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Listen,” Helena leaned in, “I will pay you personally as much money as your heart desires to get me on a plane, leaving in the next hour, that will take me even remotely close to Oregon. Okay? All the money you could ever want. Ever need. Just get me on a plane.”

The receptionist’s smile glinted. She stared right into Helena’s eyes, unblinking. “We don’t take bribes. I’m sorry. Please, take this as an apology from the company.” She held out a voucher. Helena stared. It looked like a plane ticket. It was not. “Please,” said the receptionist, “take it.” The other two receptionists turned their heads in unison. They stared at her. They stared at the voucher. “Take it.”

Helena took the compensation prize from her acrylic claws. It burned her hand to hold. She kept holding on. She felt like she deserved to burn.

Helena turned. She began to wade once more through the stream of bodies. She caught sight of golden arches downstream, bright neon luring in travelers who ached for food. Stark fluorescence, red and yellows, fake in their warmth. Substituting fast food schlock for homecooked meals. Turning people into slow, sluggish, zombies. She felt herself be pushed by the tide, dragged towards two for ten deals.

She would not.

She began to walk upstream. She would find an exit. She would leave. She would get into a taxi. A taxi. She’d call David. She’d tell David everything, everything about the voucher and receptionists and the boy alone and the woman with Time and the flight delay and the whistle-blower. And she’d apologize. She’d apologize for being late and she’d apologize for the taxi. The taxi. The phone call getting cut off in the taxi. She’d apologize and she’d promise it wouldn’t happen again, again. But this time there wouldn’t be a next time cause she’d fix it. She’d fix everything. For Lainey. She’d be there for Lainey’s birthday. She’d be there for Lainey.

Helena picked up speed, bags trailing behind her down the liminal linoleum halls. She sped past seating, past black windows, past bathrooms, past receptionists, past food courts, past neon advertisements, passed people. She scanned signs. Gates, terminals, elevators, escalators, luggage check, information desk, exit.

Exit.

A bright neon red burning into her retinas.

The sign pointed left.

She went left.

Her suitcase rolled fast, wheels turning and turning and turning over tile. There was another sign. She turned again. She went wherever the signs pointed. She turned a corner and barreled towards the end of a hallway. There was no sign. No direction. No exit.

At the end of the hallway was another glass wall. Helena approached, peer outing to see the world for the first time since she had arrived. It was pitch black. She stepped closer. She touched her palms to the panes. It was ice cold. When she exhaled, no fog spread on the glass. There were no stars outside. No moon, no runway lights, no planes.

No- Planes. There had to be planes.

Frantically, she turned, abandoning all her bags- she who had entered here.

She ran like hell. Towards the terminals, the gates, the planes. She shoved through listless masses. She stumbled over feet. Adrenaline pumping. Heartbeat racing so fast it flatlined. Praying to god. Praying to the pilot in the sky. She ran. She ran past seating, windows, desks, signs, rope. She ran. She ran and she ran and she ran towards Lainey. For Lainey. Only Lainey.

She could see the jetway now. She could see the poor souls being denied entrance to its gates. She would not be denied. She shoved, pushed, clawed her way past- clinging onto her last shred of hope.

Helena broke out, descending into the jetway, barreling down the metal tunnel until the noise of the airport was drowned out by her pounding feet. No stopping. No slowing. Only Lainey. There were no lights save the entrance behind her. As she sprinted, the world started to go dark. Soon, she couldn’t see at all. Helena tried to trust her instincts, trust the blood rushing in her ears, in place of her sight. But the jetway just kept going. Further and further and further she descended until the darkness swallowed her whole. In the darkness, the tunnel seemed to twist, to wind, to change, to stretch. The darkness clawed at her legs and bit at her ankles. Still there was no stopping. No slowing. Only Lainey. She would see Lainey. She had to see Lainey. She would push through the inky black, sludge through the jetway’s molasses flooring, she had to. For Lainey. For her.

 

Helena’s foot caught on something. She tripped over nothing. She slammed into the ground.

 

Head pounding, ears ringing, chest heaving, she lay, exhausted. Helena didn’t know for how long- maybe a second, maybe hours- her mind consumed by the sole image of her daughter. Her beautiful daughter. Her beautiful daughter, haloed in sunlight, laughter like bells ringing in her ears. Her daughter, alone, on her birthday.

When she blew out the candles, would she wish for her mommy?

All at once, Helena began to sob. She covered the floor in her spit, retching, heaving out her lungs, face raw, body clenched, spasming, twitching, desperately trying to suck in air, trying to breath, trying to feel her lungs expand but all she could feel was the world swelling around her, senses bloating until the crash.

 

The crash.

 

There had been a crash.

 

Helena’s in a taxi. She’s on the way to the airport. The I-70 is all dark except for headlights. She’s on the phone with David, who’s yelling, again. She’s not paying attention. She checks her email, which is flooded. Darryl in finance wants to discuss the quarterly. There’s an HR meeting next week for harassment training. Steven wants to know if everything’s finalized. David is still chattering away in her ear. She tells him everything will be fine. It’ll all be fine. Which she believes. She also wants to placate him. She’s tired. The taxi merges onto the offramp and suddenly there’s this blaring horn from an oncoming semi. She looks out the window to see the nose of the truck and there’s a crushing noise and a ringing and glass shards in her skin and then her vision blurs.

 

Eventually, everything will null. Nothing will remain but a dull ache and a loud ringing. Later, Helena will pull herself up. In front of her will be a void. Behind her, a light at the end of the tunnel. She’ll go back. She’ll go back to the bright light and the airport. She’ll go towards the food court. She’ll sit down with her plastic cafeteria tray. Her voucher will get her a Big Mac and a Diet Coke and a lukewarm medium fry. She’ll take a seat across from the whistle-blower. He’ll smile at her with a sort of half smile and push towards her a Hostess Cupcake.

 

It will settle in her stomach like a heavy chocolate weight and she will still feel empty.

 

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