The Firefly Field Theory

|3| You're Going To Hurt Yourself: Part III

PART III:

“Mom then shouldn’t we wait in the apartment? Are we going to wait outside?” I want to reason with her as this is getting out of hand.

“Huh? No its okay.” Mom says, she is not even listening to me anymore.

Maybe staying inside was adding to her nervousness, and if Zoe doesn’t get here soon the whole world will witness the act of the spectacular pacing mom. We head down the stairs, and on the final step I hear footsteps approaching. A plump figure reaches to hug mom, when I get closer, I'm relieved.

“I'm so sorry, Jamie just wouldn’t fall asleep. And I left my cell phone at home. Must have given you guys a scare.” she says in her inherited Aussie accent.

‘A Scare’ is not even close more like an epileptic paralysis or a pacing back and forth syndrome, despite the medical improbability of the latter. Mom hands her the keys and we get into the car. Mom is driving shotgun and I’m in the back seat with all our stuff. Not really I am in the backseat stuffed with all our stuff.

Mom told me once, that when I just a baby, I used to cry a lot. Everything she did just ended in vain. A screaming baby wasn’t hot on the lovable list. So one day, when dad got back from work and found her at loss of tricks to shut me up. He asked mom to pick me up and took us on a drive. Just like that. We were still in Pakistan; dad took the highway road and drove and drove. She said I cried a little at first but when we got on the main road, I just stopped. I was one year old. Mom said I was peering outside, finding something better to do than crying.

I think, that is where it all began. I have deduced from this that I picked up running as one of my few hobbies because it makes me feel like I'm escaping.  There is something about my sneakers throwing the earth behind me that makes me feel exhilarated. As if the thought of escape is the fuel It is probably for the same reason that little crybaby me, was enchanted by the view of the world, and everything that matters in it, just slipping away. Just passing by. I am still thinking about it when I doze off.

“Samha, wake up, look we are here.” mom says. I open my eyes, mom is speaking to me but looking at Zoe, ”so be sure to water my cactus, and just park the car in our usual spot.”

I get out of the car and shake off any signs of absolute fatigue. We head to the entrance, with Zoe behind us. But before we enter mom turns around and I think she has just recalled another set of much heard before instructions, when she hugs Zoe and says, ”Thank you for putting up with someone like me, I am really glad you’re helping me out so much.”

Zoe hugs back, I think I to myself, I should have texted that as a final word to both my only high school friends. But it’s a little too late now. After a tear or two Zoe heads back for the car and we enter the building.

According to Google maps, from above the Airport looked to me like a giant mosquito, was swat by a giant mosquito swatter, when it was sucking up Florida blood. But the place is just beautiful from the inside. Its four fifty seven, and it looks like we made it before five. Just like we planned (throughout the whole freakin day) to.

As soon as we enter I have a distinct feeling I may never be in such a beautiful place for a very long time. So I instinctively start looking around, while I follow mom through the golden overflowing light, to the line of five people at the air line desk. I look up at the ceiling and it is glass, held up by metal bars extending like sparks of a firework, the spotless glass rests at the other end of the white sparks.

On our turn the agent looks up our registrations, and prints the boarding passes. Mom places her carry-on on the scale next to the desk, and then helps me weigh mine. We get the luggage tagged and place it on the conveyor belt. After that I follow mom to security, the tall dark man looks at our boarding passes and ID cards. I place my laptop case in a separate bin and the lady officer checks me with the metal detector, next is moms turn, I collect my stuff. And she follows soon after, getting all her stuff back in her purse. All done with that, I look at the time and we have fifteen minutes to spare. Mom leads while she repeatedly checks the gate number on the boarding passes.