GATE A
We pull up in front of the airport. My knees, knocking into each other. I cross my arms, trying to not let the panic show. “Well, I guess it’s time.” My mom turns around, and smiles. I see a tear, but she wipes her eye as her head turns back to the windshield. My father unlocks the car and pops open the trunk. We both get out as we lift four black bags. I walk away to the door to grab the luggage cart. The carts are lined against a wall, looking beaten and battered. The silver basket bars have rusted and the plastic handles have faded away. I test each one, looking for the best option with wheels that are not rolling too funky. I choose one with a slight wobble, but have faith that it can make its way through the airport.
Two minutes later, I return to the car. My mother has finally worked up the courage to get out of the passenger seat. She and my father stand there with a look on their face. Droopy cheeks, with a pouty mouth, and a twinkle in their eyes. The face of two people thinking that they are losing their only child. My father helps me lift the four black luggage cases on to the cart. I take my black Herschel backpack with my wallet, water, and passport and throw it over my right shoulder. “I will call you when I arrive.” My mother embraces me with a strong grip. I feel a tear fall onto my shoulder. My father wraps himself around us. We embrace for 30 seconds too long.
“Okay that’s enough.”
“Please, please call us everyday. Let us know what you’re up to, don’t leave us out of the loop,” my mom says, while she grabs my arm as I pull away.
“Son, for my peace of mind, listen to Gina.”
“Okay, Okay.” I grab the cart and make my way to the electronic doors.
“I will call you. Once I land, you will be the first phone call.”
“I love you!” My mother yells.
“I love you more.” I yell back, moving past the electronic door. As I enter the second line of electronic doors, I turn around and give a final wave.
I begin pushing my luggage, then I search the direction signs to find my check in counter. The airport smells like a mixture of mall and plastic from a kids toy. After looking at directional signs, I figure out where I’m going, and I push the cart to the check in counter for Delta Airlines. I weigh my luggage, and the short plump man named Jeffery behind the counter, gives me a tag for my carry on. He takes the remainder of my bags and puts them on a long conveyor belt. I check my watch. One hour until my flight.
I walk to the very long TSA line. There is a girl standing in front of me,wearing a black floral shirt purchased from H&M and old faded jeans. She listens to Nicotine’s through black earphones connected to her iphone 7s. She texts aggressively on her phone. Then I look at her bag. It is the same black Herschel bag.
“Cool, you have the same bag as me.” I tell her trying to strike up a conversation. She is my practice subject on how to make new friends away from home.
“Yeah,” She chuckles, and moves her hair behind her ear. Her face is exposed to my pupils. She wears a lot of heavy black eye shadow around her eyes. Her eyelashes are long. I could tell if you were to wipe all of that away, she would look like Jennifer Lawrence.
“I’m Joel, nice to meet you.”
“Natalia.” She grabs my left hand and we shake. I’ve never given a left handed shake before.
“So you like the Nicotine’s?”
“Yeah, they’re a cool band. Their sound is more original that the stuff heard through the radio. I don’t like to listen to too much controlled media, they control your mind.” From that one sentence, I try to pick up on where she is from. I know it’s not New Orleans. She might be from the midwest.
“Oh yeah, I totally get it.” No I don’t. “So is listening to music your go to travel thing to do.”
“No, I just sleep. Being in the air doesn’t bother me. Listening to music is so that I can cope right now.. I don’t like long lines.”
Suddenly, a man in a thick 9th ward accent yells, “Alright ya’ll, the TSA machine is broken. We have maintenance comin to check on it. If you’re scared to miss ya flight, we can give you a full pat down and wand check. So, if you want, stay in line, but if not, can you step to the side for me please? Thank you.” Groans are heard throughout the line. People shuffle with irritation.
“Well, this would happen in a New Orleians airport,” she chuckled. She said New Orleans wrong, she’s not from here. “I’m just going to stay in line.”
“Same.” I check my watch, 45 minutes until my flight boards. “So where are you headed to?
“To Europe.”
“Yeah, which part?”
“Russia.”
“Oh really? I’m going to Verona.”
“What’s in Verona?”
“A new life. What’s in Russia?”
“A way out.” She stares at me blank in the face. We hold eye contact. I stare deep into her black pupils.
“A way out of what?”
“Nothing.” She turns her head quickly. I examine her posture. I wonder if she is in any trouble. She looks healthy and well fed. The line begins to move. My eyes stay peeled on her for observation. Not looking down, I slip on the most well waxed part of the airport. My bag goes flying. Natalia takes her bag off of her shoulder. Next, I see her face close to my eyes.
“Are you okay?” She helps me get up.
“Yes, I’m fine. I just slipped somehow.” I’m trying not to bring too much attention to myself. The back of my head starts to throb.
“Maybe you should tell someone you need some Ice.
“No, it’s okay.” I grab my bag and get up. I check my watch, 40 minutes until boarding. With the machine broken, the line is moving at snail speed. I pull out my phone and see 10 missed text messages from my mom:
*Enjoy your time.
*I Love You
*Stay safe
*Find a wife
*No, not a wife, you’re not ready for marriage.
*But date
*Date to marry
*Don’t mess up
*Don’t forget about me
*And Your Dad.
I choose not to respond for the fear that she might have a fit if I tell her that I haven’t made it to my gate. As I stare at my mother’s text messages, I see Natalia take a call. She starts speaking in Russian. I open my Twitter account and start scrolling, while eavesdropping on her conversation. Her tone sounds sharp, but her sound is soft.
Without hesitation, she speaks in English, “5 minutes.” she says. The phone clicks.
“You speak Russian?”
She stares back at me in discuss. “Were you listening to my phone conversation?”
“No, but yes,” I stutter. “I never really knew anyone who spoke anything other than English or French.”
She laughs at me and rolls her eyes.
Two minutes later, we make it to the front of the line. “It was nice meeting you. Also, don’t be to clumsy in Verona.”
“I’ll try not to.” I chuckle. “Have a good one, stay safe.”
She walks up to the TSA guards. She gives a white lady her bag. The woman shuffles through it with a stick. Natalia spreads her arms and legs so that the man with the wand can scan her. I see her take her bag and walk off. A sound echoes through the airport as she disappears.
The TSA guy yells,“The machine is working now everybody. Please fall back in line.”
I step forward and put my bag on the conveyor belt. I walk through the machine metal detector machine. I get the green light. I check my watch, 30 minutes until my flight. I’ll make it.
But as my bag is scanned through the belt, a red light goes off. The lady behind the machine takes her walkie and makes a call. “214 at TSA, we have a 214.”
“What’s going on?” I ask her.
The ninth ward man comes and waves at me, “Sir, I’m going to need you to step to the side.”
I step the side still asking them both, “What’s wrong?”
To my right, two NOPD officers take me behind a white screen.“Turn around” the muscular one says. I turn around, they grab my arms and handcuff me.
“What is wrong? If you need to throw my water bottle away, that’s fine.” I plead.
“Boy, stop acting dumb. Let’s go.” I am jerked like a criminal.
They march me down a long hallway. They open a door to a grey room with a 50-year-old man wearing a black suit and glasses behind a table. They throw me in and handcuff me to the chair. I scream and kick for my life. I look at the man in confusion.
“What’s going on!” I yell.
He looks back at me. Strokes his grey mustache and says with a sigh. “Sir, why do you have 3 pounds of heroine in your bag?”
I look at the clock above his head, 20 minutes until boarding.
The Griot 