SHE SAT QUIETLY, EYES TRAINED ON THE HORIZON. The clouds in the sky, puffy and pure white and cotton ball-esque, floated lazily over them, as if on a long trip that they didn't particularly want to finish. She felt relaxed, perhaps the most relaxed she had been in years. There was no meaningless conversation in the car; only the hum of the engine and the lowered voice of some obscure country singer bleeding through the speakers. She would have pulled up her headphones, but it may have been perceived as disrespectful, and while she normally wouldn't care, this happened to be a bit of a special occasion.
This would be her last afternoon in America, after all.
She finished packing her luggage three days before the day of her flight, as she didn't have many items of importance. Just a couple pictures, books, and a few pairs of clothes for the weekends.
Wonder Woman had told her that the Hero school required its students to wear a uniform. The idea of wearing the exact same outfit every day, five days a week, irked her, just a little. She preferred her jean jacket and beanie and old t-shirts to a stuffy, expensive uniform that would be worn by every other girl around. The uniform also had a skirt, which was quite revolting, in her opinion. Anything that showed more than her knees was a definite no. That's why she always wore jeans, even in the summer.
Clothing aside, she didn't have much trouble choosing what to take with her and what to leave behind. Her room was bare, the only occupants the small bed and a little dresser. She didn't have any posters or calendars, because she thought that hanging reminders of what she could never obtain was an idiotic practice, and calendars were useless in her mind. Why would she need a piece of paper telling her what day it was, when she very well knew that it was Saturday?
She refused to keep any trinkets or toys, because to her they were just useless items that took up the bare space in her room and made her feel empty when she actually cared enough to notice how sad and pathetic it was.
Only two books (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams and The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton, since she couldn't find the other Hitchhiker books in any of the shops or libraries), her little box of bracelets, and two framed pictures were stuffed into her suitcase on top of her leisure clothing. The pictures were of the few things she legitimately cared about, as they were her only remaining tangible memories of her mother.
The first one depicted a woman, young and foreign and beautiful, and Kendria herself, when she was only four years of age. They were at a zoo, one quite far from their hometown, one that required them to drive for three hours. Young Kendria perched upon her mother's shoulders, reaching out with chubby little fingers in an attempt to pet the giraffe. She had always like the giraffes, though she could never explain why.
Though it was impossible to know just by looking at it, she remembered that her father had taken the photo. She remembered that he had laughed boisterously when her younger self whined at not being able to get the animal's attention, and had bought her ice cream afterwards to make up for her disappointment.
Her father had changed considerably since then.
The second picture, clearer and less crumpled, consisted of Kendria and her mother in front of a stunning fountain, water glistening in the air and a faint rainbow forming in the mist. She was ten at the time; she could tell, because that was when she decided that Converse shoes were cool, as seen in the picture. She couldn't remember exactly where the fountain was, just that they had to ask a stranger to take the photo.
Her father hadn't gone with them to the fountain.
She didn't like looking back on old memories, she then decided, because it only made her life seem even worse compared to before, and she had to numb her thoughts with her headphone volume set on high until the tears disappeared and she no longer felt anything, allowing her to finish gathering her few belongings and push them into a suitcase and a backpack.
For the rest of the evening, she laid on her bed and stared at the cracked ceiling, trying not to think or care too much about anything while a famous singer's euphonious voice blocked out her father's shouting down the stairs.
Officer Ryan parked the car and turned off the engine. "We're here."
Since he was the one given the responsibility of dealing with Kendria when she got in trouble with the law, which was three times now, he was in charge of making sure she made it to the airport and actually boarded the airplane that would take her to Japan.
He hadn't tried to make small talk, or remind her of the consequences that would come if she failed at the Hero school, or any of the other condescending conversations adults carried when a child was in trouble. The man merely told her to buckle up, turned on the radio, and began to drive. Occasionally he hummed along, but he stayed silent for the most part, leaving her to her thoughts. Thoughts which mostly consisted of I hope they have a McDonald's and what was that one lyric in that one song?
Now, they stood in the airport terminal, having bought her ticket with a stash of money she had saved up since she was five. Back when she had living grandparents, she would receive a birthday card from her grandmother on her father's side and her grandfather on her mother's side, a fifty dollar bill in each. This continued for six years, until her grandparent died of old age. The plane tickets were considerably cheaper than she had expected, only four hundred U.S. dollars. She would have some extra spending money in Japan, she decided.
Officer Ryan turned to her and held out his hand. "Good luck, Kendria. I may sometimes act like your a thorn in my side, but I actually think you're a pretty good kid." She paused for a moment, then reached out to shake his hand.
"I'm gonna miss you, kid." He looked up as the woman on the intercom announced that they were now boarding her flight. The man smiled, and she swore she saw a bit of sadness in his kaleidoscope eyes, something she'd just noticed. They were pretty. "Knock 'em dead."
She tightened her grip on her suitcase, shouldered her backpack, and nodded. "I think I'll miss you too, Officer. I'm not quite sure yet." Seeing the man's smile turn brighter with humor, she turned and walked off to the line in front of her plane.
To tell the truth, she would miss the policeman, but she would never admit it. There were very few things she cared about in the world, and she wanted to keep it that way. However, perhaps adding the kind man to her list wouldn't be too harmful.
She'd just have to wait and see. For now, the flow told her to put it behind her, as it was now an old memory and she didn't like to dwell on those, and focus on what was to come.
Another long chapter, but I'm happy with the way it turned out, which is saying something coming from me.
I've never been in an airport, or on a plane for that matter, so trying to write a full chapter about a silent car ride and a process I've never experienced would just be messy.
I hope the description of her room and the pictures help you understand her better, even if it's only by a little bit.
-- Fan
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