Puzzle Pieces // m.f

0.1

It was Tuesday, Jamie's favorite day of the week. The weekend wasn't approaching with it's sense of 'carpe diem, do something amazing, live life to the fullest' and the initial stress of getting back on a schedule was gone. Tuesday was a day of pleasant regularity; of schedules and plans and things to do.

Most Tuesdays.

Currently the twenty-one year old girl was standing in the middle of her local air port, feeling absurdly lost and impossibly alone despite standing in a crowd so thick that her winter coat suddenly felt unnecessary. The Alabama weather outside wasn't just cold - it was biter and unforgiving. The feeling of numbness mixed with terrible pain in her chest and Jamie tried desperately to convince herself that she wasn't having a panic attack.

This is okay. This is what's best. This is my decision. I am an adult with a college degree in linguistics and this is what I want to do with it.

Memories of her high school and college experience, collectively seven years due to incessant studying and an abnormally high IQ, filtered in with memories of her parents yelling at her two days ago. They were unhappily divorced after having been unhappily married for a bit over thirteen years and yet they came to the same conclusion that Jamie was ruining her life - wasting all of her potential on some silly dream.

It wasn't though. Jamie wanted to write novels and had been told for years by various teachers that her outlook on life was beautiful in its uniqueness. All she wanted was to make a difference in someone's life. To create the world that they escaped into when nobody invited them to parties or sat with them at lunch. To do for someone else what so many authors had done for her.

Jamie sighed and began rummaging through her coat pockets, searching for her ticket among scraps of paper with vague outlines of scenes or characters or even complete books. The moment her fingers closed around the perforated edge, the intercom crackled to life above them and very suddenly, as if they were all one entity, the people in the airport stopped moving and they stopped talking and it was eerily silent.

"Flight 332, California, now boarding. Flight 332, California now boarding."

Jamie squeaked slightly and pulled her suitcase behind her as she ran to the loading dock printed on her ticket. Upon reaching the small desk she over enthusiastically pressed the ticket into the woman's hand and let out a breathless 'thank you' before rushing on.

Mark was on a round trip flight back to LA after visiting Cincinnati for family. He had fallen into a not necessarily restless, but certainly not peaceful, sleep when he was woken by a soft voice muttering 'darn it' over and over again. He opened his eyes to see a small brunette on her tiptoes as she attempted to shove her carry on into the overhead storage compartment.

"Here, let me help you with that." Mark got up and gingerly avoided knocking her laptop off of the seat where she had precariously balanced it. Standing just under six feet, he had no problems whatsoever sliding in the small black suitcase and closing the storage compartment with a satisfying click.

"Oh. Thank you very much." Now that she was speaking directly to him, Mark noticed a certain smoothness to her voice. As if she always knew what she was going to say, and even if she didn't she could make you think otherwise.

He shrugged off her thanks and sleepily watched with mixed interest and amusement as she pulled off her coat, leaving her in a long sleeved grey shirt and close fitting sweatpants. Maybe it was the design of the pants themselves, or maybe it was the girl's curves that she most certainly had, but Mark's eyes widened marginally at the sight of her bending down at the waist and frustratedly shoving her jacket underneath her seat. She picked up her computer and sat down cross legged before placing it in her lap and rolling up her sleeves. At that point she let out an over dramatic exhalation and flipped her head upside down before gathering her hair into a messy bun and shivering slightly.