So F*cking Special: 1996 (Book 1, The So F*cking Special Series)

Prologue

"July!"

"Sir, I'm asking for her name, not the birthdate just yet-" 

"That IS her name!" I shouted at the airline agent through the phone. Out of character for someone who was seeking help and needed it as much as I did at that moment.

"Sir. I must have the passenger's full name first, middle, and last as it would be listed in the ticket purchase before I can track the bag."

"Yes. And I've told you, the luggage tag has my name on it. It is currently in my possession. You sent it to me." I gritted my teeth.

"Full name of the passenger please. Just give me the name of who flew, and we will start again."

"July Elizabeth Edwards." I said it loud and proudly as if it meant something to me, and I wanted it to mean something to the irritating woman on the phone. I needed her to get it right. The truth, if I stepped back from this situation, was that it was amazing I remembered or even knew her middle name. I guess I must have known it my entire life... Just as I'd always known her, even if I had no idea where she was, or who she was now. That part gave me an odd hollow feeling in my gut. The uncertainty of not knowing where she was or if she was safe. Did she even need saving? Maybe she simply needed her luggage, and the only thing dramatic about the situation was me getting it to her.

I should have also considered, if she did need saving, would she want to be saved by me? The uncertainty of where we stood or who we were to each other...former classmates? Old friends? Two people who shared a once in a lifetime connection they chose to ignore until they became strangers. Good God, maybe I should just hang up before I tell the airline we were two ships passing in the night, and although I don't expect anything from her, I just want to make sure she's okay, and that she got her suitcase, which used to be mine.

Just in case that part doesn't make me sound like a complete lunatic, wait until I try and explain how someone I haven't seen in two years who lived in New York but was flying to LA with luggage from Pure Pines, Texas with my name and old address on the tags. That's not insane, right?

The insanity is that the airline sent the luggage to me. How could they follow a handwritten luggage tag above the barcode or whatever sticker that should match the boarding pass of the person who flew? Now, I'm the one who sounds crazy. However, the true insanity here by definition of the word, is in fact on my part... Why the Hell was this bothering me?

She was obviously okay. She probably called to check on the luggage, and after being defeated by the system a few times, gave up, and just re-bought whatever she needed wherever she was. But I knew that couldn't be all there was to it. I knew because I was the fool who opened the damn thing. I knew wherever she was right now, she needed it.

Still, if she was in trouble or had to have help, she would have called her family. This was nuts. I was going ape shit over a suitcase I threw out years ago. The idea that it landed in her possession by happenstance and then was mailed back to me with her possessions in it... It didn't have to mean anything; it was most likely just an inconvenience. A sane person would ask himself why he needed to be a hero to someone who obviously didn't need saving. We were adults now. Adults who had gone our separate ways. Adults lose luggage all the time. It wasn't a sign or an SOS in whatever way my mind was trying to apply it as one. It's a suitcase.