Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Some place in the mall.” I make it sound like it just fell into my lap. This old thing?
A seventy-year-old man walks past, wearing the same money belt. He nods at me like we’re in the same club.
Noah smiles like a devil.
Taking my suitcases from me without asking, he wheels them to the curbside check-in and dutifully sets them up on the scale. The first one makes the cutoff at exactly fifty pounds. I don’t get so lucky with the second.
“Aw. One pound over,” Noah tells me, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “What do you want to toss?”
“I need everything in there!” I say defensively as he wheels my overladen luggage out of the way of the other flyers. “Hold on, let me open it and rearrange some things.”
I do just that, unzipping my suitcase on the sidewalk for everyone to see, having forgotten that I placed the clear plastic packing cube with my panties and bras at the very top. Frilly black lace nearly tumbles out onto the concrete, and Noah whistles under his breath.
“Oh right, I forgot you’ve never seen ladies’ underwear before.”
“None that fancy,” he taunts. “Who’re you planning to entertain in Rome?”
I shoot him daggers. “As many Italian men as I can get my hands on. Now open your suitcase and let me shove some stuff inside of it.”
“I have it all organized. Can’t you just throw that thing away?”
He’s pointing to the blue bunny whose floppy ears are barely poking out from underneath some clothes. I’ve had the stuffed animal since I was a baby, and though I don’t normally sleep with it anymore, I tossed it into my suitcase, knowing I might need to bring something of home with me to Europe, some sort of tiny comfort. I realize now I should have taken more care in hiding it from Noah.
“The bunny is off limits,” I say harshly.
“I think it’s cute.”
“Right, well, why don’t you open up your suitcase so I can see all the weird little things you packed too? With how perverse you are, there’s no telling what you’re hiding. I bet your toothbrush is just out…loose. Dry bristles brushing up against your ancient yellowed tighty-whities.”
“Boxer briefs,” he corrects.
I plug my ears. “Ugh. More things I don’t want to know. I don’t care where you keep your skid marks.”
A laugh bubbles up inside of us, and we both turn away to compose ourselves. This conversation has gone off the rails.
“Just hand me something already. The students will be here any minute.”
I grab a dress and a pair of flip-flops. That should do it.
He looks toward a nearby trashcan, as if half-tempted to toss my things into it and be done. My gaze dares him to do it. Finally, with a sigh, he loads everything into his suitcase and wheels our luggage back to the check-in counter.
“You owe me.”
“Fine. I’ll buy you an airport snack.”
Let’s get one thing straight: this is not how I saw myself leaving the country for the first time. Given the choice, I would have traveled overseas on a study abroad trip in college, young and full of academic zeal. Or maybe I would have made the trek solo, after graduation, immersing myself in the culture and digging deep into everything Italy has to offer. Antipasto and wine, art and antiquities all at my fingertips. I would have done my own version of Eat, Pray, Love, only just Eat, Eat, Eat.
This…this is nothing short of torture.
“Ms. Cohen, I think I forgot my passport!”
“Ms. Cohen, how long is the flight again?”
“Ms. Cohen, I have to pee! I swear it’s an emergency this time!”
I remind Lizzy that I collected everyone’s passports back at the ticket counter for safekeeping. I inform Zach that the flight is just over eight hours. I point Isaiah toward the bathroom behind us, and just like that, the fires are put out. Just in time for ten more to ignite.
Noah and I were supposed to have ten students with us, but one girl got mono last minute (thank god) and had to drop out. Altogether, we’ve got Lizzy, Kylie, Millie, and Alice. Then, acting as if the girls don’t exist, there’s Brandon, Lee, Chris, Zach, and Isaiah. Because of Instagram, I know there are thirteen-year-olds parading around with better hair and makeup than me. These are not those kids. These are quintessential middle schoolers with oily foreheads and mouths full of braces. The girls are all a head taller than the boys, who are still soft-cheeked and mid-pubescent. There’s an unspoken uniform the kids adhere to. For the girls, it’s a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt. The boys wear shirts for various sports teams and cargo shorts. God knows what they keep in all those pockets.
We arrive at the terminal early, and it’s my doing. I have a healthy fear of being late for flights, and I knew our group would hit roadblocks along the way. Back outside on the curb, parents lingered, cried, kissed, and hugged their children so long airport security had to come shoo everyone out of the drop-off lane. The TSA security checkpoint came with its own set of nightmares: triple-knotted Skechers that refused to come off, one kid’s overladen cargo shorts fell down when he removed his belt for the scanner, and don’t get me started on all the oversized bottles of hair gel. Not my Axe Body Spray! It’s brand new! It took nearly forty minutes to get us all through the metal detectors, and then I got suckered into letting everyone browse through a convenience store for snacks and magazines. After slapping a bag of Chex Mix against Noah’s chest to repay my debt, I kept careful track of the time on my watch, worried we were lingering too long, but now here we are, at the gate an hour before our flight.