Oh, oh
June 16, 2016 - 9:28 a.m.

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Flight morning.

"Do you want me to put on the radio?" The taxi man shows up ten minutes early and loads my luggage. He wears a nearly pressed black shirt like a proper chauffeur. The silence in the car is soft and enveloping; the purr of the engine makes me think of the little silver hatchback waiting.

"No," I say. "I'm okay." A pause. "Thanks though."

He smiles at me through the rear view mirror, and we drive in silence.

My phone pings with good byes, with affectionate insults.

"Get out of our country!" Followed by a plethora of kisses.

I cry a little in the cab. The driver keeps his eyes on the road. He has left a bottle of water for me, which I don't touch.

My stomach hurts. I haven't eaten, but it's more than that. I will eat at the airport, past security, when I feel secure.

~

"I'm going to have to charge you for these bags," the clerk tells me. "You're well over your limit."

He says it firmly, like he's used to arguing.

"But...I thought..." I fumble. I am so tired. So many stress dreams.

He tries to explain it. His words contradict what I read on the website, what the woman said on the phone when I called the help line.

"Do you understand?" he finishes.

I sigh, smile tiredly. "No," I say. "But that's okay. You know the rules. Just tell me what to pay."

He looks at me for a long moment, then down at his computer. He holds his hand out for my credit card, which I dutifully hand him. He swipes it, hits some buttons, prints a receipt. He hands receipt and card back to me.

"I've just charged you for the extra bag," he says, quieter, "not the extra weight." He eyes me. "Don't go expecting this every time."

"I won't, I won't," I promise. I smile my thanks. "Thank you so much."

~

The security woman looks like she might be a grandmother. She smiles at me. She has a gold chain running from her glasses around her neck.

"I bet it's because of the sculpture I have in there," I say.

She glances at the screen, then down at my backpack.

"So THAT'S what that is," she says. "I thought it might be something like that. I'm going to have to open it anyway."

She does. She looks at it and turns the heavy lump of plastic over in her hands.

"Huh," she says, then continues on to dig two screw bits out of my purse that I'd totally forgotten about.

Her boss looks at them.

"Do you have the handle for these?"

I shake my head.

"Well, it's pretty unlikely you'll dismantle the plane with these. You can keep them."

I stuff my life back into my bags, and I hurry off.

~

All security has been passed. A breakfast, for too much money, at my favourite Japanese restaurant.

One wall is windows. The clouds are low, multilayered, and the air is thick and grey. It is a watercolour painting with only one colour.

Oh England. Oh Canada.

.

Rosie

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