seat no. 26 a ~discontinued~

2. streaks of flaxen gold

I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That's the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they're not much to look at, or even if they're sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. Girls. Jesus Christ. They can drive you crazy. They really can."

- J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

if there’s one thing i hate, it’s going to the airport with my family.

actually there’s loads of things i hate. oreos. scratchy sweaters. sweaters in general. pancakes. phony people. too-long fingernails. notebooks with flimsy paper. very flaky puffs. pomeranians. miley cyrus.

but if i had to pick one thing i really hate – going to the airport, or anywhere for that matter – with my family.

lois was forever complaining, i don’t even know what the fuck there is to complain about in an airport, it’s an airport for chrissake, you can’t bloody change anything. but she was complaining. she was thirteen years old at the time, so i guess i can’t really blame her, that’s what thirteen year old girls do, they complain.

mum was fretting. she must’ve asked dad whether he had the tickets and the boarding passes and all our baggage tags at least fifty effing times since we’d come and dad would each time patiently tell her yes, elaine, i have all of it.

dad was quiet, too quiet. he didn’t say a word unless it was required of him so at airports we only ever head yes, elaine, i have all of it, or, noah, we need one more baggage tag, or something stupid like that. i got sick of it, noah this and noah that, i got sick of my bloody name because of my family.

after the ordeal of security check we went to the waiting lounge so they could announce our boarding. mum was in a foul mood because we hadn’t gotten seats together, we had two together and then two separate, so i guess she and lois would sit together and me and dad would take the individual seats, and i would probably get stuck with an armrest nazi for a neighbour.

the waiting room was boring. it wasn’t slick like most of the ones i’ve been to. the people were strange too, from different cultures and countries, but the area was quiet – everyone was busy with their own things.

something caught my eye, though. a splash of colour,  i think it was tie-dye, the worst kind of neon green and pink and i glanced towards it – and that’s when i saw you for the first time. the bandana was wrapped around your head, holding your curly brown hair with the blonde highlights away from your face, glasses sliding low on your nose like they still do.

your head was ducked, legs crossed and a notebook perched on your knees, your hand flying over the pages. you looked lost; in your own world, and i envied you because you didn’t have to live the depression of this waiting room, you found your escape.

you looked interesting to me. far by the most interesting thing in the waiting room, you and your notebook, ugly tie-dye bandana, and streaks of flaxen gold in your hair.

and then you looked up, and i inhaled a little, because you were pretty, more than pretty maybe. you had this small nose which was turned up at the end, and the hugest dark eyes i’d ever seen, and your red lips were set in a firm pout as you glanced around the room, closing your notebook and pushing your glasses on top of your head. and i was standing there like an idiot, my mind only vaguely registering my surroundings (yes, elaine, i have all of it), but mostly i was just watching you.

then lois tugged on my sleeve – we’re boarding, stupidhead – so i looked away from you and boarded my plane, noticing that you were in the queue ahead of me.

maybe i’d get an armrest nazi, or maybe i’d get you.