by Elliot Chan
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“I didn’t know we were talking,” I said without looking away from the airport window. The cargo team outside was moving in an un-choreographed manner. They were loading up a commercial flight, an idling airplane fit to carry two hundred and forty-four passengers across the Pacific.
“We weren’t,” said Cassie, “but we should be. Shouldn’t we deal with this before we get on the flight? Or are you going to give me the silent treatment all the way home?”
Conversations with Cassie used to be pleasant, concerning books, art, and nature, but now they were self-indulgent and confrontational. It was not her fault. I was half the problem, but it wasn’t something I could control. At first I didn’t see myself behaving childishly, but she pointed it out. Now I couldn’t ignore it. It was the only defense I had without yielding to her mayhem.
“I have nothing to say,” I said, “and I don’t feel like getting riled up anymore. I’m tired. Can’t we just ride it out and get home?”
I didn’t need to look to know she was rolling her eyes. I heard her shuffling in her seat and ruffling through her small carry-on bag. It was full of souvenirs for her friends and family in Vancouver. I bought my fair share, but it was all cheap garbage with tainted memories, and I wanted to dispose of it as soon as possible.
“I don’t know why you have to make everything so difficult,” she said. “Am I asking too much—”
“What do you want me to say?” I interrupted. “If there is something I could say to making everything better, I would. So let’s just drop it.”
“I’m not going to drop it,” Cassie muttered under her breath. “I’m not.”
“Well then, that’s your problem, not mine.”
Bags were riding up the conveyer belt into the heart of the plane. I watched as each suitcase, backpack, and luggage ascended. Mine was not among the group. I took a long breath, but the anxiousness did not settle. Submitting to the discomfort, I turned away from the window.
My carry-on satchel sat beside me working as a wall separating me physically from Cassie. But she was gone, and she had taken her things with her. I couldn’t hide the bewildered look on my face. A Korean businessman sitting three seats down glanced up at me. I directed my eyes elsewhere feeling a red glow of embarrassment; it must have blended well with my sunburn.
“Not this game again,” I said to myself. “Not now.”
I got to my feet and scanned the departure terminal. There must have been over three hundred seats and a quarter of them were occupied. There were children playing games, travel beaten backpackers sprawled across three seats, homesick professionals typing away on their laptops, but no Cassie. Perhaps she had gone to the bathroom, I thought, comforting myself and failing.
It was my idea to go to Thailand, but Cassie was the one who took the initiative. I did not allow myself many breaks for pleasure, I couldn’t. A life of a business student was too competitive. After all, I had invested too much. Four miserable years of discipline and top grades; now what? Graduation was a long month ago and a stack of résumé sat on my desk awaiting my return.
Perhaps I had been naïve when Cassie described the scenario. She hadn’t sat through a second of marketing lectures, but she sold it effortlessly. “You’ll love it,” she said, “the beaches are amazing, and the food… God! It’ll be unbelievable.” And the beaches were amazing, at least for the first day; the postcard images were nothing after the bug bites and sunburns. The food, yes,God indeed, it was unbelievable how over-spiced curry could turn the body into a leaky faucet. “And,” Cassie continued, reciting what she read in travel books, “they say traveling is the best way to discover yourself and each other.” It was an innocent thought, who knew I would despise everything I found.
It was a beautiful place, I agreed. Cassie took enough pictures to prove it. Most of them were scenic shots that, in his opinion, rivaled National Geographic. The remaining photos were of each other, Cassie and I, young love. During the first week, the camera was a fixture in her hand. The idea of posing and smiling for those pictures was once crucial, but now it made me sick. Each night as we lay in bed, we scanned through the snapshots on the digital camera and recapped our day. We laughed, talked, and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Then three mornings ago as we headed for breakfast, I noticed that her camera was tucked away in her bag, left behind at the hostel.
“No pictures today?” I asked, curious, but far from wary.
“I don’t feel too creative,” she said, shrugging it off. “I’ve got plenty of us eating breakfast anyways.”
I ignored the subtle signs and walked on. The camera remained at the bottom of her bag for the rest of the trip.
Light rain dappled the tarmac. It didn’t look threatening, but I knew luck was against me and dreaded the idea of being stranded at Incheon International. A long delay was the last thing I wanted, especially after Cassie’s disappearance.
God knows what she was trying to prove by trotting off moments before boarding.
She was wild and stubborn, I knew that the moment I met and fell in love with her. All my previous girlfriends were uptight and conservative, the type my mother adored. But Cassie was inspirational, while other girls chose to meet me in my shell Cassie forced me out. She broadened my horizon from my bed sheets to the comforters and beyond the mattress. I took a chance and answered her called to adventure, but now I was homesick and I missed my shell.
Where was she now?
On a certain level, I knew Cassie well. She loved art, music, and authentic Asian cuisine. But there were other levels, thousands upon thousands that I had yet to explore. The sheer depth intimidated me. The lack of knowledge left me feeling small and unworthy. As the tepid romance waned into its final days, I made every effort to save it. At least I thought I did.
The intercom brought me back to reality. First it went off in a long spiel I couldn’t understand and then it relayed the information in English. “Now general boarding for flight GF3750 to Vancouver.” The voice resonated down the terminal, “at Gate E22.”
I watched as flight attendants and securities filter passengers onto the jet bridge. I remained sitting, hoping to catch Cassie lining up among the others. As the line shortened I began feeling anxious again. She wasn’t stupid, I had to remind myself, she might be unreasonable, but she wasn’t stupid. I got to my feet and threw my satchel over my shoulder. I pulled out the passport and boarding pass from my pocket and gave it a confirmation glance. Then she appeared, walking leisurely towards me unaware or unaffected by her tardiness.
She flung the bag onto the seat and opened it. Took her passport and ticket and held it between her lips, while her hands dug back into the bag. I turned to the window and watched as passengers boarded.
“Here,” Cassie said as she removed the contents from her mouth. “I deleted all the pictures.”
I turned back in time to catch a small camera falling through the air. “What?” I said. “Why did you do that?”
“I was angry at you,” she said, zipping up her bag and heading for the gate.
In a different place, I would have thrown the camera and allowed it to smash into a thousand pieces. In another world I would have called out Cassie, I would cause a scene and demand an apology. But I was in an airport and that was no way to behave.
THE END
For more of Elliot Chan's writing visit www.elliotchan.com
