Thirteen days, she thought, feeling a revolution in the words. Thirteen days of whatever I want.
She was shivering, unsure which factor was more to blame—the iced coffee she'd downed before security, or the unadulterated adrenaline dancing on every strand of her being.
The binging sound of each new passenger's ticket being scanned echoed rhythmically in the San Antonio airport. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, her eyes flicked over each person standing at the gate. Feeding off the live inspiration surrounding her, snippets of ideas, half-developed backstories and character traits flooded her already cluttered mind. She attempted to formulate a mental list to contain them, promising herself she wouldn't forget even the most rudimentary idea.
After all, her next thirteen days were going to be filled with endless, boundless hours to construct a universe and its inhabitants precisely to her liking. After the success of her first novel, she had the notion that the best way to discover a new story was to discover a new place. New faces would inspire new characters. New experiences would inspire new scenes. New surroundings would inspire new worlds.
Beginnings enthralled and terrified her in equal part. Their limitlessness contained near-infinite excitement and hope, only matched by fear and risk that was just as potent.
"Anything is about to happen!" Her grandfather would always say upon her admittance of a new story brewing in her gut.
A nearby clock read 5:37 AM when the ticketing agent's voice bounced across the tiles, announcing that B31-60 could begin boarding. She clung tightly to her B43 boarding pass, regarding it as though it were a golden ticket.
Through her bag, the corner of her notebook poked against her side, a phantom whiff of fresh paper and drying ink teasing her nostrils. She had a habit of starting new story ideas in a brand new notebook, an idea she inherited from her prolific grandfather. The page, she always found, was somehow more forgiving than the screen. Pen on paper moved more freely than keystrokes on pixels.
She flew down the jet bridge, each step feeling like a declaration.
"Free-dom. Free-dom. Free-dom."
Flight attendants welcomed her warmly as the other patrons filled the overhead bins and settled in. The aisle opened up before her and she spied a window seat several rows down.
"Excuse me," she spoke to the person in the aisle seat, gesturing to the empty space. "Is that window seat taken?"
The person remained silent, their head tilted down, completely engrossed in a book. Headphones rested over their ears and she reached out to tap the corner of their book, smiling to herself. She understood being so entranced in a story that everything else slipped from awareness.
She was met with a handsome face and curious eyes—eyes in which the brilliance of a brand new world shrunk away, reality replacing imagination.
He removed his headphones with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. What?"
"I was wondering if that window seat was taken," she repeated.
"Oh! Of course," he blurted, seeming to have entirely forgotten that they were on a plane at all. "I mean, 'of course you can sit there,' not 'of course it's taken.'"
"Thanks for the clarification," she laughed as he stood to his feet.
She fell into the window seat, allowing herself a deep, cleansing breath. This is it. She told herself. This is the beginning. The moment I'll remember as the moment I began my second book.
She smiled, opening the tray table before her and plunking her bag on top. She reached in, retrieving her notebook, then dove back in to fish around for a pen.
After a few moments, though, her heart faltered in her chest. She yanked the bag closer, craning to peer inside.
Oh god.
She used the flashlight of her phone to confirm the devastating truth—she had forgotten to bring a pen.
In an instant, her world seemed to collapse. What am I going to do for the next two and a half hours? How could I forget a pen?!
She closed her eyes, allowing herself a quick mental meltdown, then came to her senses. Deciding her first plan of action should be asking her bookish neighbor if he had a pen she might borrow, she opened her eyes to tap his shoulder, already feeling guilty for pulling him from his world for a second time. But when her retinas refocused, she found that he was already a step ahead of her.
"Here," he offered kindly, holding up the very item she hoped to possess. "Take mine."
A smile blossomed on her lips as she accepted the pen—its casing was blue plastic, the word "Shakespeare" scrawled upon it in white cursive.
"Thank you so much," she effused, her previously dashed excitement returning in full force. "I don't know what I would've done," she admitted, hands clasped around the pen as if it were oxygen itself.
"In that case, you can keep it," he laughed, replacing his headphones over his ears.
She exhaled in relief, tucking her bag beneath the seat and pressing the notebook open on the first empty page. She clicked the pen, fragments of her soon-to-be-discovered world flashing before her mind's eye.
In the dim cabin, with the sun rising over the horizon, sitting next to an intriguing stranger, heading to a new destination, with a completely blank page before her, she felt it. She felt it stronger than ever before.
Anything was about to happen.
~
Inspired by true events—930 words
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