My Last Resolution(3)

Fuck Adrian...

Before I can turn my phone off, I see that I’ve missed five calls—all from my boss, so I call him back.

“Paris Weston?” he answers.

“George Nicholson. Are we about to play the name game?”

“Spare me your shit today, Paris. Where the hell are you? We just got a whole new set of sweaters delivered and we need someone to get them ready. There are ties that need to be organized, women’s heels that need to be shined, racks of slacks that need to be...”

I listen as he goes on and on, as he reminds me of just how pathetic my life really is.

“Paris!” He snaps. “Do you plan on coming in today? You’re already late so you know you won’t get a break. Actually, I’ll give you a ten minute one if you stay for a few extra hours. It’s the least I can do. But if you pick up my favorite coffee on your way here, I’ll make it fifteen. Oh, and get me a bagel too, with my dry cleaning.”

“Fuck you, George.” I hang up. I’ve been wanting to tell him that ever since I started working there, ever since he made me more of a personal assistant than a retail clerk.

George calls my phone again and I hit ignore. I know he wants to get the last word, to say, “No, you’re fired!” like he told the last quitter, but I refuse to give him the chance.

I lie back against my dusty car and sigh, staring up at the sky. I’d give anything to be far away from here right now.

Anything.

All of a sudden, a plane parts through a cluster of clouds and I start to think about how lucky those passengers are, about how many of them could possibly be running away from a broken dream like me.

Then it hits me.

With no hesitation, I jump off my trunk and wrap the wire hanger around my muffler the best I can. Then I drive towards the airport and park in the extended lot—rushing into the terminal as if I’m about to miss a flight.

“Good morning and welcome to US Airways!” The desk agent smiles as I approach. “Will you be checking any bags today, Miss?”

“No...”

“In that case, I’ll need a form of photo identification. Can I have your confirmation number please?”

“I don’t have one.” I slide my license across the counter. “Do you have any roundtrip flights for four hundred dollars or less?”

“What?” She looks confused.

“Do you have any flights for four hundred dollars or less?” I enunciate every word. “I need to disappear and I would like to fly somewhere far away. Can you do that?”

She furrows her brow, but she nods and looks down at her screen. “Let me check...”

Typing away on her keyboard, she whispers something into the tiny mic that’s tucked into her jacket.

I’m pretty sure I heard her say “potential flight risk passenger heading for security soon,” but I shake that thought away.

“How long are you trying to get away, Miss Weston?”

“However long four hundred bucks will cover.”

She whispers into her jacket again and then she forces a smile. “We have quite a few roundtrip flights in your price range for anywhere between four to fourteen days. Would you like to go up north or further down south?”

“Whichever is the cheapest.”

“Okay, up north then.” She types for a few more seconds. “Chicago, Boston, New York, Cleveland, Brunswick, and anywhere in between.”

“Boston.” I like the way it sounds. “Fourteen days if possible.”

“And for fourteen days...” She tilts her head to the side. “Unfortunately, since you’re booking this so late, you’ll have to have two layovers—one in Atlanta and one in Washington. But, if you want to wait until tomorrow morning—”

“No thanks. How much is it?”

“Three hundred eighty eight dollars.”

I immediately hand over my card.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to check that bag, Miss Weston?” She hands me a boarding pass and eyes my oversized purse. “It looks kind of heavy...” she whispers into her jacket.

“Why do you keep whispering into your jacket? Do you honestly think I have a—” I almost say the word “bomb” and bite my lip. I’m sure security guards will pop out of nowhere and tackle me to the ground at the mere mention of that word.

“No thank you.” I roll my eyes and head straight for security.

As I hand my documents to the guard, I feel my cell phone buzzing. A text from my older sister:

“Don’t forget I’m picking you up around six-ish for dinner! Sister Day! Yay!”

I sigh.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that I already know about the engagement party, and that she could’ve stopped texting me her “Can’t wait to spend some quality time with you, sis!” ruse weeks ago.

Instead of ignoring her, I text her back. “I won’t forget...”

“Ma’am?” A deep voice suddenly says, making me look up.

“Yes?”

“Are you waiting on something to happen? Is there a reason you haven’t placed that bag on the belt?”

I look over my shoulder and see the desk agent from minutes ago speaking to two security guards, pointing in my direction.

Jesus...