On any other flight I would have to sit by and wait for everyone in first class, then the people in front of me in economy, to get off the plane before I could even get my own luggage from the overhead compartment; on this flight however I wasn't just the first person to get off, I was the only. To say I was shocked would be an understatement, but that did not mean I wasn't glad. The initial flight going to Cancun had at least 30 other people on board, and I would bet my last dollar that they were all last minute spontaneous trips to take advantage of the low priced tickets and practically empty airports.
There were posts all over social media talking about how my generation would take this time to now travel the world not even scared of the possibility of contracting the virus that has been making its way around. Surprisingly though, despite the amount of likes and reposts that type of content got, the airports were still barren. These last two weeks flew by, and I would not even be able to retell what I did over there if anyone asked.
When I wasn't drunk I was suffering a hangover in various activities that I can vaguely pinpoint as swimming with the fishes and what I assume was ziplining through trees. The numbers in my bank account dropped faster than the value of my liver. It was a now or never type of situation, the cost to travel would never again be as low as they were at that time, and with my payments for my textbooks and dorming finally completed I may have never had the chance or opportunity to do any kind of traveling again.
Walking through the terminal I became increasingly aware of how heavy my footsteps were and how loud the squeaky wheel of my luggage was. It shouldn't have mattered considering I was the only one there to hear it, but nonetheless I slowed my pace and softened my footing while attempting to keep the straps of my two carry on bags from slipping off my shoulder and the luggage from sliding out from under my other arm.
Stepping through the automatic sliding doors I dramatically whipped my head to the side to help the wind in moving the bangs that were greased on to my forehead. If there was anything or anyone that I was a slave to, it was my hair. There were times where I would shower in the morning before going out, and by the afternoon my hair would already be noticeably oilier. Forget going days without washing it, if I had the guts to do that I would accumulate enough oil to cook a fried buffet for a large family. The humidity in Cancun did nothing to help my situation. If anything it sped up the entire process. The flight itself was only 5 hours long, I had showered maybe half an hour before boarding but no matter what I tried to do to keep my hair safe, the humidity and oil found it. Now getting off the flight the texture and appearance of my hair was enough to disgust anyone.
That embarrassment was not enough though, no, after attempting to move my hair out of my face the oil found its way into my eyes and immediately they were overcome with a stinging sensation. I cursed twice, first when my hands instinctively flew to my eyes to rub the oil away, and the second being when all my clothes exploded out of my luggage on impact. Dropping to my knees I brushed off what sounded like a snicker while I began throwing every garment I saw through my blurred vision back into my sad excuse for a luggage.
A small red fabric was kicked to my face followed by a muffled "here." I mumbled back some sign of gratitude as I used the article of clothing to finally wipe away the substance in and around my eyes. Taking a second glance at the crimson item in my hand my entire body froze at the very moment that my sight focused.
"You forgot that," the figure continued, although I wasn't looking at him I could just hear the fact that he was smirking.
My eyes stayed glued to the ground as I shoved it deep into my back pocket trying to muster up the confidence to finally look this man in the eyes.
"That was so..." I trailed off as we locked eyes and the red hues in my face automatically switched from that of blushing to that of anger, "you know, a normal decent person would typically use their hands if they were going to help someone"
YOU ARE READING
In a New Light
RomanceWhat happens when Micah Rennick, the pitcher of the college baseball team, and Ava Swarner the girl who fought her way on causing his best friend to lose his position and another friend to be kicked off the team, get stuck on campus together during...