I Was Told It Would Get Easier(10)
“Cool.” Sienna hung up, and I reached the gate.
Mom was pissed that we weren’t sitting together, but I was relieved. I needed time to think. I could only guess at what was going on, but my guess was pretty educated. I slid down the wall and sat there on the carpet, then distracted myself by getting a great pic of my drink superimposed on a plane so it looked like it had wings. I didn’t actually drink very much of it, but the picture was sharp.
* * *
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When we landed I had like three hundred snaps, forty-two texts, and even a Facebook message, which could only be my grandfather. I scanned the texts and took a deep breath. I put my phone away and waited to get off the plane.
This is the bit of flying I hate the most. The plane lands and even though everyone’s flown before, half the passengers get to their feet and stand awkwardly waiting for the doors to open. It’s like repeatedly pressing the elevator button, totally pointless. I remember when I was younger, my mom whispered to me, People who punch elevator buttons over and over think they control the universe, and I bet land-and-stand people are button punchers all the way. They freak me out; they’re big and tall and standing between me and the door. Until this point we’ve all been civilized travelers, but now we’re revealed to be several hundred people in a highly flammable metal tube.
I pretended my seatmate wasn’t looming over me, holding his carry-on six inches above my actual head, and took a picture through the window of the plane. I captioned it, added a cute location tag, and sent it. Here’s where I am, people, in case you were wondering. We’re like spacewalking astronauts, re-tethering ourselves to the mother ship by phone. Nobody wants to be that guy floating away with the reflection of the moon in his visor, right? Or the lone wildebeest on the nature documentary, stupidly eating grass while a lion creeps up on it. Our phones keep us safe in the herd, although right now I’m trying to ignore the vibrating coming from inside my bag. My English teacher Mr. Libicki would say I’m overdoing the metaphors, but he still talks about Myspace, so, you know, consider the source.
JESSICA
When I turned off airplane mode, a whole series of texts came buzzing in. For a moment I felt anxious, then remembered my kid was sitting somewhere on the same plane and was therefore unlikely to have been in a car accident. One was from Valentina, one from Laurel my assistant, and four were from Frances. Despite Frances’s many wonderful qualities, she is a terrible texter. She never sends one text if four are possible. She types, she hits send, she thinks of something else and sends that, and then she thinks of yet another thing and sends that. I’d asked her why she didn’t simply wait to hit send until all her thinking was done, and she was genuinely surprised and said her brain didn’t move on to the next thought until the first one had been sent. But as I’ve already noted, she makes up for it elsewhere.
“I’ve been thinking about your new law firm . . .” read the first text.
Then: “You can have those billboards you see all over LA, with a giant picture of you wearing a power suit in a dubious shade of blue . . .
“And it can say: Wronged? Make those bastards feel the Burn!
“Because your name is Burnstein, get it?”
I grinned, then realized I was the only one still sitting in my section of the plane and scrambled to my feet. I checked the seat-back pocket, because that’s how I’ve lost several phones, then I spotted it hiding in my own hand. I need coffee.
* * *
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Emily was waiting for me, more or less patiently, inside the gate. She was staring at her phone, of course, but looked up and smiled as I came off the Jetway.
“How was your flight?”
I smiled back and said, “It was fine, how was yours?” like two normal people greeting each other. This was going to be easy. I cannot believe I thought that; had I learned nothing?
“I watched movies, it was alright.” She turned and headed off, slinging her backpack on her shoulder. “We have to get the bags, right?”
“Yeah.” I followed her, slipping my phone in my purse. Emily was walking and texting at the same time, which always makes me wonder if humans will develop some kind of crown-of-the-head sonar, like dolphins or bats. Maybe she already has it, because I’ve never seen her run into anyone. Bit of a disappointment, I won’t lie.
* * *
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The hotel was a standard chain hotel, but they’d added a lot more eagle-themed decor than would normally be advised. By focusing on eagles and flags, they’d managed to emphasize their location at the heart of American government without appearing to take sides. There were also a lot of state flags decorating the walls of the lobby, and, as always, I felt jealous of Michigan. I mean, yes, California has a bear, and that’s cool, but Michigan has a moose, an elk, an eagle, and what appears to be Sasquatch, at least in the version hanging in the lobby. There’s a lot going on, for a state flag.
Up in the room, Emily immediately flipped open her laptop and connected to the Wi-Fi.
“There’s an actual TV, you know,” I said. “Maybe we could watch a movie?”
She looked up, surprised. “Wow, I haven’t watched an actual TV in ages.” She regarded the big box for a second, then shrugged and went back to watching the smaller screen in front of her. “I’m okay, thanks.”