The Right Kind of Wrong

Prologue

I've been in and out of the bathroom for the tenth time now and I'm still clammy from the oyster that I ate back at the hotel. Although the room service was exquisite, the oyster didn't hit the mark the crew had hoped to hit. My body is undergoing such a foul orgasm in my GI tract that I have to take two trips in the bowl each time I enter the doors of comfort. Beads of sweat are as thick as ice on winter rolling down my cervical to my spine. This is what I hate about my stomach; it's my greatest nemesis. Considering that I love to eat, my stomach is the greatest traitor in my whole biological system. And I am starting to doubt it.

When I got out for the eleventh time, the airport is still packed as always. A family just went out of the arrival lane coming from Tahiti. They have a nice tan on and a very large duffel bag with sun glasses sticking out of the zippers and some strings of what seems to be their underwear. An old couple sat near the glass window sipping a tea bag out of a cup when who seems to be young enough to be their grandson came up to them and landed a kiss on each of their withering cheeks. Then came along the parents of the kid. That's a priceless frame right there.

It's like New York all over again; so busy. Everyone has their own luggage, or with someone they love right now. And my presence here is hardly felt, and by that I mean I am alone. I ate lunch alone today. After the conference I just needed a me time. And that just did the trick. I was okay then. But right now, something's off somehow. I do not know what it is but I am not in any hurry to find out what it is.

"Requesting all passengers of flight 7277, please board the plane now." The speakers boomed and shook the whole rattling holding area and everybody got to their feet with their coats hung limply at their arms and headed toward the door with the bright red lights flashing ENTRANCE. I too followed the crowd with my backpack. Slinging it over one shoulder, I started to head for the door.

The seat I got was beside a window which is what I die for when I'm halfway travelling around the world making people walk. Lights of red and yellow danced outside the pitch black out the window and just for a moment wherein things couldn't get any worse, rain started pouring down the pavement of the runway. I fished my coat in my bag when accidentally I dropped my stuff on the floor; my brush, some shirt, and more other things that are not that necessary to share. They went inside my pack the instant they fell. I tried to reach for a keychain that I dropped which skidded under the seat in front of me. I tried to wiggle under it but it was just too small of a fit for my hand. Good thing the seat beside me isn't occupied yet. What I'm doing right now would be so embarrassing and at the same time would be so inconvenient with me wriggling in and out of my seat. I tried one more time, bent down and reached as hard as I can for the damn keychain when a familiar voice called over my shoulder.

"William?"

I looked up abruptly without realizing the seat in front of me being reclined back and hit my head against the back of the head rest. "Ow!" I barely stopped myself from cursing when I saw the brown eyes of the man who stood before me. They were staring back and a huge grin was plastered over his face. Why do I get this feeling that something bad is going to happen? My heart ran as fast as it could without turning back as it crossed the finish line and took off with a summersault over a cliff. It committed suicide, yes. When I looked to stare back he already took his seat beside me and buckled up.

"Keith." Was all that I could muster. This is going to be a long trip.

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