A Change of Plans

Ch. 2- Panda Express and Crochet Hooks

I know it's stupid of me, but I can't bring myself to delete it. It just sits there, mocking me. All day, it reads. Its bold letters leer at me, laughing at the past three years four months and twelve days. But who's counting? He tore your heart out, my brain reminds me. But think of how much he loved you, my heart counters back.

Loved.

Past tense.

After staring at my hateful phone screen for a good thirty minutes, I let out a sigh that could have caused a tornado, and toss my phone back into my bag, where it lands with a satisfying thud. I stand up, stretch, and examine my surroundings. The terminal remains mostly empty, due to the fact that the plane is rescheduled to take off in 4 hours. It's just me, and elderly woman crocheting what appears to be a scarf, seated next to her snoring husband, whose face is covered by a newspaper, an exhausted mom surrounded by two suitcases and three backpacks being occupied by three sleeping toddlers and a snoring husband, and a guy who looks about my age, with shoulder-length black hair and piercings all up his ear. Jackson, however, is nowhere to be found. Suddenly having the urge to check on the state of my makeup and hair and find food, I choose the safest bet, and walk over to the old woman with the crochet.

"Excuse me ma'am", I begin, unsure of how to go about asking. She looks up at me with a happy little smile and bright eyes.

"Could you, ummmm, watch my stuff? I have to, well", Trying to come up with words, gesturing at the restroom, she cuts me off.

"Say no more darling," she says, smile widening, making her eyes crinkle around the edges, "If anyone tries to get near it, I'll take out their eyes with my crochet hook." Startled at her blunt sense of violence, I edge back a little, and she laughs.

"I'm just playin' doll," she waves a hand at me, southern accent dripping from her voice like squeezing a sponge, "Go take care of your business. And I don't just mean the bathroom. Go find that handsome young man," she says with a hint of whimsy in her voice and a wink. Still kind of shocked, but thankful for a chance to go, I smile and thank her, then turn and book it.

Wandering through an airport I have only been in once before, I am utterly lost, and completely starving. Seeing a Panda Express, my mouth waters, and before my head even tries to object, my feet are taking me towards it. I walk inside, and the smell of American Chinese food wraps me up in a heavenly blanket. I get my food and sit down at the furthermost corner booth, just like I always do. No matter the location of the restaurant, always the corner booth. I close my eyes to pray, and the memories hit me like a slap in the face.

Jackson hated Panda Express. The only time he would ever eat it was every year on our anniversary, because it was always where I wanted to go. We had so many memories, seated at the corner booth in Waxahachie, the one that seats two. He would always throw a huge tantrum, but always with a smile, and I knew he didn't really mind.

I open my eyes with a startled gasp, blinking back tears again, swallowing around what felt like a boulder in my throat. My appetite was long gone, but I ate anyway, tasting nothing. That's how everything was without him. Bland, colorless, dull. I clear my trash, and make my way back to the terminal. 240 minutes, I think to myself. 240 minutes, then you'll be on a plane home. Home to Tessa, home to Beverley, home to my couch and my bookshelf... My thoughts trail off. I see him. He has a Kleenex in one hand, and a worn photo, with crease lines and yellowing around the edges in the other. I'm startled by a pang near my heart of something. Pain maybe, or remorse. I spend a good five minutes, standing in the foot traffic highway, getting jostled by impatient businessmen, in a rush to catch their early morning flight. I see him unlock his phone, type something, and hold it his ear. I feel my phone start to vibrate, and a second before it starts blaring, I cringe, not wanting to hear the song I know will play. Of course though, it starts, in the middle of the chorus, the last song we danced to at prom. The one where he pulled me closer, and promised me forever. I see his reaction to hearing it, he looks around, frantic and bewildered, like a deer in the headlights, and I see the redness around his eyes, the pain within them. He sees me, and he moves as if he's going to come over, but desperate to avoid him, not wanting to almost cry again, I duck my head, and walk as fast as I can back towards the terminal, where a strange old woman waits for me with a kind smile and my suitcase.