Stories the Butterfly Told Me

2. The Airport

Chapter 2

I felt my body staying tense, after the butterfly had finished its story. Life is too short, I thought to myself and looked mystified at the little bug for a long time. The sun was still burning me, but I did not take any notice, as I was deep in thoughts. Then slowly it opened its wings, letting the sunbeams being reflected beautifully in the black spots of the pattern. I studied the shape, which was forming two eyes staring back at me. Suddenly the eye-pattern blinked. My eyes grew big; those eyes seemed familiar in some way, like they belonged to a long lost friend. I moved my gaze to the never-ending field, which stretched before me still lost in thoughts. As my eyes reached the horizon the butterfly started whispering the next story.

 

There are noises everywhere. I stand in the check-in line waiting for it to be my turn. I try to keep my mind off the situation I am running away from. An old couple is chatting happily at the desk, they keep asking for all kinds of meaningless information about the flight. They have spent at least eighteen minutes checking in one bag, and that was just the amount of time I had been keeping track with. I  impatiently tap my fingers at the handle of my luggage, eyeing the lady behind the desk. She seems pretty annoyed at this point answering yet another question. As the couple finally thanks her, I sigh, grab my leather jacket and carelessly check in my luggage at the desk. I only use four minutes and 43 seconds.

 

I am sitting feeling irked and bored in gate 12, staring at the boarding sign and anticipating for it to start blinking. Unwillingly my mind wander off and starts to imagine his face; how the tears had blended in with the raindrops, which had been falling on his face. I let out a sigh and turn my attention to the people walking by, all of them unaware of me studying their every move. I cannot think of what I am leaving behind.   

 

A very young woman with a tight grab in a young blonde boy yells furiously to make him stop crying. He keeps begging her to let go of his hand, because it hurts. As she only tightens the grip, his tears and ear-piercing, begging shrieks grow larger. People start turning their heads. When the woman sees the look an elderly man is sending in their direction, true perplexity and desperation shin off her face. She has no idea how to deal with this screaming kid.

 

From the speakers, it is announced that a flight to Oslo is missing two passengers.

 

A tourist group of Asians all wearing ‘I love London’ t-shirts are blocking my view for a couple of minutes. I can still hear the shrieks of the child. Quickly my eyes search the gate, and I finally find them again. She has dragged him off to a corner and is holding her hand high - about to slap him. His innocent, confused, crystal blue eyes are filled with tears.

 

As I feel something starting to blink in the corner of my eye, I turn my gaze; I only hear the sound of the slap. The flight was boarding. With my passport and boarding ticket in my hand, I get up to finally get on board – to get away from him and this damn city. I try to supress the anger against that woman with the child, along with the fury against him.

 

Everyone is finally quiet in the dark cabin. Flying somewhere high up in the sky, with the black ice cold Atlantic Sea under us. The air is extremely dry and I hate the feeling of breathing in through my nose. Annoyed I grip the see-through plastic cup, which is placed in front of me, and drink the rest of the water. For more than three hours the old couple kept speaking, they talked incredibly vociferously. I guess they both have hearing problems. A cabin crew collects the garbage; gradually I doze off into the dream, which I fear the most. The only sound is the constant rumbling of the flight filling my ears.

 

“No! You told me, you would not do it – we had a plan,” I yell angrily at him. How could he? He is holding the little box loosely down his side but in a tight grip. Filled with rage, I start wandering back and forth. The cold night air cannot even clear my mind. A street lamp is sending its cold light through the heavily falling rain. Suddenly I stop up and stare at him. His black curly hair is all drenched and so is his white shirt. The tears are blending with the raindrops, whilst they trace down his chin. I walk off.

 

He is standing there left alone in the rain for a long time, only breathing in and out. Letting the rain soak him, he keeps his gaze at the place she left. Finally he moves. With the small box still in his left hand he runs across the street and a few blocks further. The water is splattering around him at his every step. Then he reaches the store with the up lighted window section, where an array of jewellry is being presented and his body tenses. He lets out a heart-breaking scream as he punches his left hand through the glass door of the shop setting off the alarm. On the ground the small empty box is laying in a puddle, as it hit the pavement it had sprung open. The ring had fallen out and is sluggishly being carried down the drain by the - now red rainwater.