Down and Out in Bugtussle (35 page)

“What are y’all laughing about?” Gloria asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Birdie says, and picks up her punch cup.

On the way back to her house, Lilly and I rehash our travel plans. She’s all packed up and ready. I’m not sure where my suitcase is, but I don’t tell her that.

On Wednesday, I help Coach Hatter, Coach Wills, Coach Keeley and Cameron Becker get everything set up for the art fair. When I tell Cameron I’m going to be out of town, she freaks out—just like I knew she would—but I assure her she can and will do an excellent job. Hatter and Wills agree to hang around for the event in case she needs some emotional support.

Thursday, I have a full day of subbing and wonder if Chloe was just kidding about this week being easier. Must be more meetings at the county office. Thursday night is a mad dash to pack. Jalena has agreed to dog-sit for me while we’re in North Carolina, so I pack Buster Loo’s travel bag, too. It’s after midnight when I finally get everything together.

I get up early Friday morning, take Buster Loo to Jalena’s, then head to school, where I have yet another full day of subbing. I don’t see Lilly all day and we text back and forth, ironing out our plans for the afternoon. Our plane leaves at five thirty, so we pretty much have to dash out the door as soon as the bell rings. Chloe meets us in the foyer and tells us to have a safe trip. I follow Lilly to her house after school, and when I see how much luggage she has crammed into her car, I suggest that I get my two carry-on-sized bags and ride with her, because our plane would be long gone by the time we moved all her crap into my car.

W
hen we get to the airport, I run to get a luggage cart onto which we load Lilly’s two gigantic suitcases, a carry-on, and two purse-sized bags.

“I’ll check my carry-on and then carry one of these bags for you,” I tell her as we hustle across the walkway to the terminal. “You’re the reason airlines started charging extra for baggage—you realize that, right?”

“Ace, I have to have my stuff,” she says.

As we stand in line to check our bags, I look at the time on my phone. We have thirty minutes until our plane starts boarding.

“Why didn’t we leave school early?” I ask her.

“You said we’d have plenty of time,” she says.

“Never listen to me about how to get somewhere on time, Lilly,” I say. “You of all people should know better than that.”

We check in, get our boarding passes, and the lady behind the counter smiles and says, “You ladies might want to hurry.”

Instead of screaming,
No shit, lady!
I smile and say, “Yes, ma’am. We will.” Lilly and I hustle toward the security checkpoint.

Even though I spent an hour studying the “what not to pack in a carry-on,” the wicked bitch on the other side of the scanner unzips my suitcase and starts pawing around in it.

“Try not to sling anything out if you can help it,” I tell her.

“If you didn’t have nonpermissible items in your suitcase, I wouldn’t be doing this,” she snaps.

“Really, because it looks like you’re enjoying it.”

“I assure you I am not.”

“You know what, I believe you because you don’t look like the kind of person who enjoys much of anything,” I say. If I had six hours instead of sixteen minutes to get to my gate, I still wouldn’t be in the mood for this crap.

“Ace, just shut up and let her do her job.”

“Lilly, I’m trying to have a pleasant conversation.”

The TSA woman finally finds what she’s looking for—an orange Fossil bag with my makeup in it. She digs around in there until she pulls out a tube of ChapStick. She looks at me like I just got picked up for slinging drugs in the bathroom of an elementary school. “Not permitted. What would you like for me to do with this?”

“How about handing it to me and letting me stick it in my pocket?”

“Ace, my God, shut up.” Lilly looks at the TSA officer. “Just throw it away. We’ll buy another tube.”

“I’m not speaking to you, ma’am, so could you please step aside if you’ve been cleared?”

Lilly looks at me. “I’m so sorry. Ace, say whatever you want.”

“What’s the problem with the ChapStick? I read online where it’s permitted.”

“It’s not permitted.”

“It was the last time I flew.”

“Where was that?”

“Pensacola to Key West.”

“I didn’t hear you say Memphis.”

“That’s because I didn’t say Memphis,” I say. “I flew from Pensacola to Key West and back with that same damned tube of ChapStick.”

“Don’t use profanity with me or I’ll have you detained.”

“Detained? What am I? A terrorist?”

“Are you?”

I lean over my suitcase and whisper, “Do I look like a fucking terrorist?” I point to the tube in her hand. “That’s fucking ChapStick! Why don’t you just give it back to me?” I really don’t care about the ChapStick; I just want to antagonize her as much as she’s antagonizing me.

“It’s not permitted and I’m issuing you a final warning on the language.”

I reach out and touch my suitcase.

“Do not touch the bag, ma’am.”

I touch it again. “Oops,” I say. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Do not touch this bag!” she roars.

I touch the bag again. “That was an accident.” I look at her and smile. “I’m so sorry.”

“Security!” she yells, and everyone stops what they’re doing and stares at me.

“Security!” I yell. “I’m being harassed!”

Security officers swarm around me and one orders me to step inside the small office area.

“What’s the problem here?” the man behind the desk asks the TSA officer.

“She’s harassing me, and I feel that I’m being discriminated against because of my intelligence level,” I say.

The man looks at me. “What?”

“This woman attempted to engage me in idiotic conversation and I’m psychologically incapable of reacting in a positive way to such foolishness and we had an altercation after she threatened to throw away my ChapStick.”

“ChapStick is not permitted!” the TSA officer roars.

“This is ridiculous,” the security officer says. He looks at the TSA officer. “Throw that in the trash.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” I say. “You better check your own Web site first.”

“Would you both step over here, please?” he says.

The security officer taps on his computer, turns the screen around, and looks at the TSA officer. “Looks to me like you need to familiarize yourself with the updated list.”

“But you said—” she stammers.

“No buts. Give her back the ChapStick!”

She hands me the tube and I smile. “Who wins? I win?”

“Ma’am, collect your things and get to your gate!”

“Yes, sir!”

I walk over to my suitcase, which she promptly zips up.

“Can I touch it now?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

She stares at me. I pop open the ChapStick and make a show of rubbing it all over my lips.

“I know you liked touching my panties,” I say.

She turns and stomps away. I look back at the security officer who jerks a thumb toward the gate departure area.

“Move it!”

“Yes, sir,” I say, and slip my ChapStick into my pocket.

*   *   *

It’s pouring when we touch down in Fayetteville, North Carolina. Lilly rents a car and then asks me to drive to the hotel. She’s texting Dax and not saying much.

When we get to the hotel, she says, “I was hoping I’d get to see him tonight, but I’m not gonna get to.”

“Why not?”

“Who knows? His commanding officer told them they would have some time tonight, but apparently someone changed their mind and no one will be allowed to see their families until tomorrow.”

“That sucks,” I say.

“It all does,” she replies. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Saturday, we drive to Fort Bragg, and I pull in to the Visitor Center where I go in and get a pass. I also get a map and I don’t know if I was holding it upside down or sideways or what, but we spend the next thirty minutes on a scenic ride around the post. Finally, we find Dax’s barracks and I sit in the car while she walks up to see him. They come down a few minutes later and I hardly recognize
him. He’s wearing ACUs and looks taller and skinnier than last time I saw him.

“Thank y’all so much for coming,” he says. He appears to be nervous and in a hurry.

“He’s got a few hours, so he’s going to ride back to the hotel with us,” Lilly says.

Awkward!

When we get back to the hotel, I tell them I’m walking a few blocks down to the mall where I plan to get a much-needed pedicure and see a movie. Neither protests and I kind of wish I hadn’t come, but Lilly didn’t want to come alone and who can blame her? I make myself scarce all afternoon and get pretty bored walking around the mall, but I don’t care. This is as close as I’ve ever come to doing something for my country. Lilly sends me a text and tells me Dax has to head back to Fort Bragg, so I hustle to the hotel and do the driving. Lilly doesn’t want any supper, but she does accept my offer to stop by the liquor store for a bottle of wine, which we drink out of disposable coffee cups when we get back to the room.

When I get up on Sunday, Lilly is not only awake, but dressed and ready.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she says.

We pack up, check out of the hotel, and drive to Fort Bragg. After taking three wrong turns and driving down a one-way street the wrong way, I finally get to the correct parking lot. While she fusses with her hair, I look around at all the cars and people. We get out and walk toward an old theater where Dax is waiting at the bottom of the steps. He hugs Lilly, then hugs me, and we stand there and talk about silly stuff for a while—like the fact that I can’t follow directions highlighted on a map.

“I have to go in there for a minute,” Dax says. “Y’all wanna come in and sit with me?”

“Of course we do,” Lilly says. We follow him inside and sit down in chairs that look like movie theater seats, only they’re made of wood. We listen to two men give short speeches; then everyone claps and we’re dismissed. I didn’t hear a word of either speech because I couldn’t stop looking around and thinking about all of these people, all of these families.

We walk back outside and stand around for a few more minutes. I gawk at the buses and try not to stare at the people milling around. I see little kids, big kids, and teenagers. Moms, dads, and grandparents who are easily identifiable thanks to their personalized patriotic shirts. Girlfriends, boyfriends, just friends. I spot a small group of soldiers off to the side, talking and carrying on. I guess their loved ones have already come and gone. Or maybe, like Dax’s parents, their loved ones didn’t have the money to make the trip. I take a step away from Dax and Lilly as the crowd draws in close to the buses.

Dax unzips his backpack and pulls something out. It’s a small gift-wrapped box with a bow that’s all mushed up. Dax fiddles with the ribbon for a second, then hands the box to Lilly. My heart pounds as she pulls the wrapping paper off, piece by piece. I’m fully expecting to see him drop to one knee and I want to turn away because I can’t handle the stress of watching. When Lilly opens it, she hugs him and then kisses him and I’m dying to know what’s in there. She gives the box back to Dax and turns around. She picks up her hair. He takes the necklace from the box and fastens it around Lilly’s neck. My heart feels as if it’s about to explode as I stand there and wonder if Lilly thought it was an engagement ring, too.

Somehow, everyone knows it’s time for the soldiers to get on the buses. I go over and give Dax a hug, stealing a quick glance at the pendant on Lilly’s new necklace. It’s a blue circle with two silver
A
’s side by side. Dax sees me looking at it. He points to a patch stuck on the right arm of his uniform.

“That’s my unit,” he says. “I asked her not to take if off until I get home.”

“That is so sweet, Dax,” I tell him, and give him one more hug. “We all love you so much. Take care of yourself and hurry home.”

I turn around and almost trip over a stroller. I apologize to a lovely young lady who can’t be more than twenty-five. She’s wearing red high heels. Standing beside her is a man, dressed just like Dax, who is holding a baby. The back of the baby’s shirt says
DADDY’S LITTLE SOLDIER
. He’s saying good-bye. I walk away from them and go back to the theater. I find the restroom, which smells just like my old elementary school, and lock myself inside a stall where I squall for the next few minutes.
Get it together!
I think. Not a soul out there was crying and carrying on like this. I get eyedrops out of my purse, apply a fresh coat of powder and lip gloss, and go back outside just in time to see the convoy of buses pull out of the parking lot. People stop waving. Up until this very moment, I didn’t fully understand how much is required, not just of the men and women in uniform, but of the people left standing on the grass. I hold my breath until I get my emotions back under control. I see a woman wearing a shirt that says
HOME OF THE FREE BECAUSE OF THE BRAVE
. I look around and wish so many people didn’t have to be so brave. Especially those little ones. I look for Lilly but don’t see her. Everyone starts walking toward the parking lot. I finally spot her and walk over to where she is.