Nick O'Connell and the Secret Base

Chapter One - A New Life

As Nick O’Connell climbed off the plane at L.A. International and waited at the line to immigration and customs a million thoughts raced through his head. This was the beginning to a new life at an entirely new location. Not just a new town or city, but a whole new country. Fear and excitement were having a battle inside his head and Nick felt the disturbing feeling of having butterflies in his stomach. Would he get to the University safe and sound? What about finding a place to live, or transportation? One thought outweighed the last. It’s not easy – moving, but he already knew that. Nick was one of those people who moved as their parents saw fit. When a new job, that paid better or had more benefits, would arise his father would jump to it, no matter how far from home it was. Home, what is it anyway, or where for that matter. That was something that Nick had found himself thinking of multiple times in the past. Well, now that he was an adult and no longer commandeered by the choices of his parents, he thought, and hoped, that it would be better. His dream had always been settling down in the suburbs with an identical house to his neighbours, a glamorous job at a big news corporation, a beautiful wife, children, and several nice cars – the American dream; a fantasy more like it. There was a long way to that though.

Aged 18, Nick had taken the first step to adulthood, and that was university to learn journalism. He had no idea what was going to be waiting for him once he would take the first steps out of gate 42-B. Of course he had done detailed research on how to get to the facility that would both create memories and torment him for the next four years of his life. Bus routes, shuttle times, he had even exchanged the exact change that he would need for the tickets. Better safe than sorry he reckoned.

With the anxieties growing in his head he hadn’t realized that he was almost at the front of the passport control queue. He examined his surroundings and found nothing too remarkable. An old security guard, maybe and ex-cop, several lines leading to the booths where men and women sat examining the passports handed to them by tourists of all sorts: old people, young people that could have been students like him, natives who stood in lines marked “Citizens Only”. A minute or two passed. The air was very still, Nick overheard the janitors talking to each other and apparently the ventilation system had been broken for a few days now. It was time to pass the yellow line and take another step towards his new life. The lady behind the counter, a fairly large woman at that, looked in her 50s, dark curly hair that looked straight out of the early 90s, Nick thought, wearing stripe-rimmed glasses, an odd choice for a 50-year-old; he guessed they might have been in style 20 years ago. She was playing with a letter opener, swinging it around in her hand. There was a name tag on the desk, one of those plastic things that looked like a stretched out pyramid.

                                                      Penelope Garcia

                                                Immigration and Customs

There was a sign next to it saying: “Please open your passports to the page that has your picture on it, before handing it to the immigration worker.”

“Next! Passport please,” said the woman behind the desk.

Nick handed her his passport, opened to the page with the picture and his information, putting his visa papers on the counter.

                “Purpose of your visit,” Mrs. Garcia added.

                “I’m here to study at the University of…”

                “Ok, so student,” she interrupted and typed it in her computer, “Length of your visit?”

                “What is this exactly necessary for, I think I already filled something like this out?”

                “I ask the questions here kid, and this is for your visa, you’ll get it on your way out.”

                “But I already have a student visa, right here,” said Nick handing her the papers.

                “Why didn’t you give me this with your passport?” she asked.

                “Well the sign said hand your passport to the person behind the counter, it didn’t say anything about the visa papers so I assumed you would just ask for them yourself.”

                “Aren’t you a wisecracker,” she said, “thank you for wasting my time,” the worker murmured to herself.

She examined the documents, looked at Nick and stamped the passport with a big bang as if she was trying to make a hole in the table. How arrogant can a person be, Nick thought to himself.

                “Move along to the baggage claim and enjoy your stay,” Garcia said in a monotonous and annoyed voice.

Wow, what’s her problem, she must have missed her after-lunch Big Mac, Nick grinned to himself and moved on to get his luggage.

                Nick was quite amazed at the number of people that were waiting for their belongings to arrive on the luggage carousels. There must have been hundreds of them. He was wondering what they were all doing in Los Angeles. Were they there just sightseeing? Perhaps checking out the Grand Canyon? Was it their first time in the States? What was their story? Those are the kinds of questions that would constantly fly through Nick’s head, puzzling him as he was trying to imagine what the answers would be. As he was philosophising about the world he noticed his things coming out of the chute, amongst the other luggage rotating on the belt. As it passed him he lifted the two bags off the belt and started heading for the exit, passing the customs and left the gate.

                Once outside Nick looked around. This is where the adventure begins he thought. He drew a big breath and it felt amazing, like he finally was able to breathe some fresh air after hours, weeks, or even years. Was this what freedom felt like? God knows… The fear had passed and he was a bit nervous but rather anxious to get on the way with his new life.