Meaningless

vi.

It is early spring and there are wisps of the clouds in the sky. Like streaks of white paint. A warm breeze blows at us as we walk through the parking deck. She has on a light blue cardigan with a short, black skirt, heeled boots, and fashionable sunglasses. Her long, highlighted hair flows behind her.

"You look like one of those celebrities. Is airport fashion really a thing?" I say.

"This is typical, isn't it? I mean—at least for normal people." She glances at me with contempt. "You know, you really need to update your wardrobe."

I feign shock. "I put so much effort into this outfit, aren't you being too cruel?"

She grunts. "You're hopeless. Know that?"

"Hopeless for you."

"Stop it! You're never cheesy."

I take her hand, pulling her close. "Let me be. Just for today, how about it?"

She doesn't say anything. She hides her expression behind those dark frames. But she doesn't let go.

"Hey," she says when we walk closer to the airport entrance, the smell of jet fuel and cigarettes heavy in the air.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever, you know, wonder what'll happen years from now?" she says, fiddling with her sunglasses. "And I don't mean only for us. I mean everything. The universe, the stars, everyone."

"I prefer not to contemplate on existential crises in my spare time."

"I'm being serious!" she says. "Isn't it scary? We end up becoming particles of space debris, floating in a vacuum forever, until we get sucked into a black hole. How does that make you feel?"

I look at her, giving her a small grin. "You think too much."

We walk past the automatic doors, feel the stale air condition blowing into our faces. The airport is crowded with spring travelers. We find her terminal and sit down, waiting for the lines to thin out.

"Sorry, but I think of it all the time. I can't not think of it, like getting some stupid song stuck in your head. You're the only one I can talk to about these things."

"I get it. But isn't it ridiculous to think that far ahead? We just have to do the best we can in this moment. We don't know what will happen in the future anyways."

"I do," she says. "I know. Something might change once or twice, but everything converges into predictability—over and over. It's always the same."

"It isn't so bad, is it?"

She looks up at the flight schedule screens. "I guess so. What else can we do. It's all we know... But that's why—"

She clamps her mouth shut, thinking. Her sunglasses are perched on top of her head now, her legs crossed. Letters and numbers reflect off her eyes.

I lean in and steal a quick kiss. "Like I said, you think too much."

"Do you hate that side of me?"

"I love it."

"You think it's hot?"

"I think you're hot."

"Aren't you a smooth talker," she says, giving me a small smile.

This time, she leans in to wrap her arms around me. She leans her head on my shoulder, breathing deeply and closing her eyes. Her smooth hair falls over my arms.

"I better get in line," she murmurs.

"Yeah, you should."

I let her go.

"Hmm." She examines her small wristwatch. "Do you mind getting me a coffee? I would get it myself, but I'm running a bit late... Hazelnut roast." A playful wink.

"I thought the flavor didn't matter to you," I say.

Her lips curl into a small frown. "Hey, I really did try tasting the differences between coffee beans, you know? I went and bought seven different flavors and tried all of them. Hazelnut roast tasted the best. Sweet and creamy."

"You do realize, hazelnut isn't a coffee bean, right?"

Her face burns red. "Shut it! Are you getting me coffee or not?"

I can't help but laugh. "Alright, alright."

Her eyes catch mine. Her expression is bright but there's a subdued sadness, lingering like the mist in early morning.

"Thank you."

I walk and walk, passing families and flight attendants and janitors and porters, and until I reach the coffee shop, I don't look back.

The barista asks me, what would I like to order today? I tell her, a medium hazelnut roast. She tells me they are out of hazelnuts. I tell her, it's fine, just make it regular. Iced. She says, of course, it'll be ready in just a minute.

By the time I am back at the terminal, I don't see her anywhere. Maybe she is already waiting for me by the escalators. I look for her blonde streaks, her flashy clothes, her sunglasses. But I can't find her. Her flight, what was the number? I can't remember. It's like she's disappeared from existence.

She should be in the line. She should be waiting for me.

She would yell at me for the coffee and drink it anyways.

She would ignore me until we reached the security lines, pretending to be angry.

She would hug me and kiss me and I would run my fingers through her hair. Tell her I'd miss her.

I would watch as she walked through the metal detectors and pick up her suitcases on the other side.

She would put her boots back on, turn around and smile, waving one last time. Waggling her fingertips, the way she always did.

But she is already gone.