Tag: travel

I lied to a little girl the other day

I was haphazardly re-applying eyeliner in the ladies room at Washington Dulles when I heard a small voice beside me; “What happened to your arm?”

Usually when people ask me about the violet line extending from the middle of my hand toward my elbow, I freeze. I could lie (“It was a shark! With really even teeth!”), dismiss (“Long story, no big deal”), defend (“Do you always ask people personal questions in the bathroom?) or answer straight.

It was the worst walking in Wal-Mart in December of 2011, limping and slinged with a large cast… every two aisles some unassuming yet intrusive older man would say ‘What, did you get into a car accident?” or “I bet the other guy looks worse, hardy-har-har!” I should be accustomed to the invasion now – it’s even more awkward when people purposefully don’t mention it until it becomes A THING, that I have to EXPLAIN. Can’t win for losing, basically.

As I worked through my response in just a second, I saw the small voice’s owner out of the corner of my eye. Pivoting on my left foot and inclining my head down, I contemplated the pig-tailed blonde human in front of me. She couldn’t have been more than six, tops, (WHERE WAS HER MOTHER? The mama bear -who i keep buried under boxes of movie trivia- clamored for attention), wore glasses too big for her face and a pink Dora the Explorer top.

My pseudo-niece, Lucy, adores Dora. I didn’t understand, when I was holding her three days out of the hospital, worried I would drop her, that she’d turn into this talkative, curious little girl who pirouettes on command (finishing with a loud “Ta-Da!” and wave of her arms). Few notice, I think, that I hoot and holler way more than the average aunt. Clapping with one hand doesn’t make enough noise for me, since my clapping ran off with my left radius.

I leaned down to the little one, eyeliner in hand, and decided to be honest. “I had a bone tumor in my wrist.” She stared at me for a moment, and I could see her eyes grow larger as she decided how she would respond. In that brief moment, I decided to be dismissive and nonchalant, thinking my truth wasn’t something really appropriate for someone so small. “It’s ok now though, I’m fine. It didn’t even really hurt.” I couldn’t help but lie, looking at Dora-lite. I needed to lie just a little.

Dora-lite, whose eyes had stilled, stepped forward a tiny half step, maybe because she wanted to make sure I could hear her. (There were some loud ladies two sinks over complaining about the size of the bathroom and how most of the restaurants were closed already).

“My friend Billy has a tumor in his brain,” she whispered.

I stepped back, I couldn’t help it. As my hip brushed the front of the sink my mind started working again, harder and faster than before.

“That’s tough, kid. I’m sure he’s going to be just fine though.” I lied. Or I didn’t. And I think that, if things go badly, years from now she’ll hate me for that lie.

She nodded, turned on her heel and walked out the bathroom without casting a backward glance. I turned back to the sink and turned the water on and watched the water splash on my slightly shaking hands, just for a second.

I write when I’m flying. In planes. You know what I mean.

(I went here)

 My hair was BORN for a non-humid climate. Seriously, I think if my hair could make the decision, it would be all like “Bitch, please. We’re staying here til I’m grey and falling out. For real.”

Specialist < analyst < strategist, in the grand scheme of things. Recognize.

Shanahan used to own the Broncos and now he owns the Redskins. I don’t know if I care about that, but I do know he has an awesome steak and some kick-ass truffle mac’n’cheese.

I managed to make my mom cry. I know,  I know. She was all freaking out about me traveling by myself, right? And I’m like, “Dude. I went to Seattle by myself when I was 22 and it was the first time I ever flew, and you didn’t bat an eye.” I think her husband was worried about me (bless his heart) and that made HER worried and they just worked each other up so much that it ended up escalating to the point that she burst into tears. She definitely pulled the whole “I can’t believe you’re surprised that I care. OF COURSE I care.”  This was on the phone about thirty minutes after I got to my hotel, mind you. So I had to calm her down and THAT turned into a discussion of the things that are broken in our respective homes; her sink is leaking and my fence fell down. That distracted her enough, I think.

Denver is GREEN. They just had a bunch of storms, so everything was lush and pretty. I really wanted to take of my shoes and walk barefoot in the grass, but I didn’t want anyone to think I was that crazy girl from Virginia.

As I’m writing this, I’m also listening to “Jane Eyre.” I wonder how the in-flight movies are chosen? Because seriously, I can’t imagine this is high on the list for this particular demographic. Strangely enough, I was just talking about the book yesterday, when I explained why I ended my short-lived English major and switched to Political Science; you can only deconstruct “Jane Eyre” so many times before the analysis overshadows the work itself. I believe in enjoying literature, not picking it apart until it’s meaningless and reduced to representative hyperbole.

I accidentally took someone’s seat. He’s now in 39D and I’m in 39C. I wonder if I changed some small course in the universe. We’re across the aisle from each other right now and I wonder if I’m supposed to be sitting there. Maybe the young man in 39E (who’s reading what looks like the memoir of a chef) would have been reading my computer screen at this exact moment (in this now-alternate universe) and would have asked me what I meant by “representative hyperbole,” and I would have had to tell him I wasn’t quite sure – I can’t think of the right phrase right now. It would have turned into some pseudo meet-cute, in which we develop an absolute distaste for each other after we argue the merits of analyzing literature and feminist theory. We then would have been stuck in D.C. overnight and would keep running into each other over and over until, exhausted and at our wits’ end, we finally end up at the airport bar. After drowning our sorrows, bemoaning our fates and finally admitting we find each other attractive, we end up in a hotel room together.

This is the “Jane Eyre” with Mia Wasikowski, who’s supposed to be “a revelation,” according to the reviews I read. Wow, I really forgot how awful the boarding school/orphanage/whatever is.

Oh hey, the chick that played Henry’s super-young bride in the Tudors is totally in this.

(Two hours later) HOLY DAMN I forgot how hot Rochester is. Wasikowski did a good job (I wouldn’t call her “a revelation,” but she was a’ight). But whew, Rochester is a hot chunk o’Victorian man.

*EDIT*  How did I somehow foreshadow the ridiculous delays that were about to happen? I didn’t get in to Norfolk until 2:30 a.m. Ugh.