The People On The Plane

✈ 2: The People in the Airport

2: The People in the Airport

Amsterdam Airport Schipol, Amsterdam, Netherlands

22, December 2014. 11: 34

The blast of conditioned air isn’t what Aspen expected. Or wanted. She expected a calm temperate atmosphere that held a subtle scent of caffeine and baked goods. But then she isn’t in her hotel’s café.

After muttering a few choice obscenities under her breath, she drags her bag behind her as she walks towards the desk. Aspen sighs as she pulls out her passport and hands it to the woman behind the counter. The woman immediately gets to work, inspecting the miniature book while simultaneously typing on the keyboard below her thin fingers.

Aspen slumps against the counter, sliding a hand down her face. The two women stay that way for a few minutes until Aspen hears a stamp imprint the passport. The woman asks for her larger bag and she obliges. The woman hands it to Aspen, along with her ticket and gives her a monotonous, unnecessary thank you before she shoos Aspen off politely and moves on to the next person.

The wheels of her bag roll on the ground along with the thousand others in the airport. Aspen heads towards the lounge. For once that day, she is thankful for her occupation. The company usually booked either business or first class in planes, which provided access to the VIP lounge.

The minutes she steps through the glass barrier, she approaches the Costa Coffee there and orders a plain coffee, no sugar. She doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth.

Aspen then goes to the couches and lets her tense muscles relax as her body settles in the plush vinyl seat. She sets her drink on the table and fishes out her book from her bag, reading and taking occasional sips from the coffee that repeatedly scalds her tongue.

When the book gets too boring, she sets the book down.

Aspen, like many others who like to keep that secret hidden, likes watching people. It is interesting to her. She likes to imagine that the woman with the baby in her arms was flying home to the rest of her family. Some happy scene like that. But then an angry frown takes over the woman’s face and she starts grumbling about something incomprehensible under her breath and Aspen no longer thinks the woman is so happy.

Not willing to let the angry woman dampen her observations, she shifts her gaze to another person. There is another woman a few tables away wearing a suit and sitting stiff-backed in a similar plush chair, reading a book. Aspen shakes her head, not understanding how someone could sit so rigidly in such a comfortable chair. She stares at her, trying to be as discreet as she possibly can. She stares, trying to imagine the back-story of this stiff-backed woman. Only it doesn’t seem like there’s anything beyond the vinyl-covered chair and the thick book for this woman. At least not anything Aspen can see. She purses her lips sadly, maybe slightly in disappointment.

She is still staring, however absentmindedly, when she snaps back into reality, as a cheerful chattering settles down in the seat next to her. The girl looks maybe nineteen or so, but Aspen feels the youth radiating off of her. The utter and complete cheerfulness and optimism, impossibly brightening the place. Aspen wonders why this girl is so happy. Why she is so excited.

The girl is speaking loudly through the phone and Aspen sympathizes with whoever is on the other end. She flails her arms in demonstrative excitement, ostensibly disregarding her location or the glares and disdainful looks a few people shoot her. Aspen feels a little scandalized and embarrassed for her but doesn’t show it at all. She only smiles at her.

Deciding that she should probably give the girl her privacy on the phone and also that she should probably save her ear drums, Aspen gets up and throws her cup. As she walks around, looking for a seat, she catches sight of a man staring at his ticket. It matches hers, except for the little details. He is dressed in similar fashion and Aspen though maybe she’d have someone to relate to as she waits for the flight to board.

Aspen hesitantly approaches him. “You going to New York too?” she asks him, trying to seem friendly.

The man was deep in thought on the face of it and only blinks at Aspen in a startled manner for a few moments. Finally, he nods and confirms. “Yeah, I am.”

“So why are you going there?” She feels very awkward and annoying as she stands there waiting for a number of non-existent seconds for his answer.

He hesitates and Aspen smiles at him encouragingly. “I, um, my friend there recently died,” he says as he scratches the back of his neck uncertainly. He seems like he regrets saying it.

And Aspen does, too. She feels uncomfortable and ill at ease. She stiffens. She doesn’t know what to say. Aspen knows that silly condolences wouldn’t help. She remembers all the ‘I’m sorry’s from her brother’s funeral.

And then it seems to her like she’s been there for too long so she nods and walks away, cheeks burning in shame.

Aspen sits down and pretends to read for about another half-hour before she hears the announcement. “Boarding for flight 385 KLM airlines to New York City,” a woman’s well-bred voice declared, echoing from the speaker overhead.

 Aspen doesn’t wait for her to repeat it in another language before she grabs her bag and heads to the gate, praying she won’t be seated next to the man. Praying that she won’t have to spend the next few hours sitting as stiff-backed as the woman in the lounge, trying to avoid extra self-consciousness.

Thank you all so much for the positive response and for getting me to spiritual  #259 and short story #728. I know it doesn't seem like much but it means so much to me so thank you thank you  thank you all.

And this is dedicated to Tiff cause Flannel is beyond spectacular.

- Tasneem