PARADISE – DAPHNE BELLFLOWER

PARADISE – DAPHNE BELLFLOWER

 

      She wasn’t an impatient person, but if the airline security line didn’t speed up she thought she would scream. She bent over, unbuckled her sandals, and threw them in the angrily in the airline tray. The dirty airport floor made her hot pink toenails look even brighter. She winced as she walked barefoot towards the security machine. She turned around and scanned the crowd for her husband. She heard him before she saw him. “Yeah,” she heard him say, “it was close enough before the ref made that call. I don’t know how in hell he was off sides. In my opinion…” 

 

      “Are you coming,” she hissed. “Maybe you can talk about the game after we get through security. In fact, if we actually make our flight you can talk about it for the next 14 hours if you want.” She started taking off her bracelets, throwing them in the tray with her shoes.

 

      He wasn’t a resentful person, but if she started one more vacation this way he would stop taking trips with her. He watched as she lobbed her bracelets into the security tray and gingerly walk over to the security scanner, a full four inches shorter without her towering heels. He tried not to laugh as she glared at the security guard choreographing her trip through the machine. “I’m right behind you,” he said, slipping off his shoes. The airport floor was filthy; he was glad he wore socks.

 

      She watched him as he strolled through the security line, amiably chatting with the stone-faced TSA agents. She wasn’t a judgmental person, but she thought his refusal to be angry at airport security personnel was a serious character flaw. She grabbed her shoes out of the tray and put them on with a sigh of relief. She watched as he slipped on his shoes, fist-bumped a teenaged boy wearing a Richard Sherman jersey and yell “Go Hawks.” He smiled at her as he walked over to where she stood. “You’re tall again,” he said, grinning at her. 

 

      He studied her face. Her forehead was sweaty and her lips were tight. He wasn’t the type of person to tell other people what to do, but if she’d ask him for some advice he would tell her she seriously needed to relax. “Where’s our gate?” he asked. “Do we need to run? If that’s the case, you’d better take off those shoes again.” He laughed, then stopped when he saw the look on her face.

 

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About bbcstudiowrites

This blog is me archiving the BBC Studio Writers Workshop.

Posted on November 10, 2015, in Fiction, Seattle, Short Stories. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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