The Tragedy Paper (3 page)

It’s hard not to wonder what would have happened if things had gone differently. If the flight had left on time, or if I hadn’t dared leave the gate area for a few minutes. But I did. I craved getting out of view. So I lifted my huge backpack onto my seat and walked through the crowd with my head down, toward the bathroom across the extremely busy hall. The bathroom was more crowded than usual too, and I felt lucky that the stall at the end—the one meant for a wheelchair—was open. I locked the door and sat on the toilet seat, just breathing and trying not to think about the line growing outside. When I felt better, I washed my hands and, with my head down, rushed out the door and back toward my seat.

Considering how often I walk around with my head down, I am surprised this doesn’t happen more often, but it
doesn’t. I was two steps across the hall when I felt the impact, a strong but petite body crashing into my left side followed by cold, icy liquid on my shirt and neck. I think some also hit me in the back of the head. It wasn’t that I minded being knocked into or spilled on, but I hated the idea of having to stop and talk to a stranger who, once he or she got over the shock of what had happened, would then look at me with that question:
What is wrong with that guy?

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” the girl said. Right away I could tell she wasn’t really sorry. She was annoyed. Keeping my head down and my eyes to the ground all the time has definitely strengthened my other senses, and one of the many things I’ve learned is that tone tells you a lot more about what a person means than the actual words.

“It’s okay,” I said, still facing in the direction I’d been heading. I could see my seat ahead—at least I thought it was my seat—and it looked like there was someone sitting in it. I should never have left my backpack there.

“Let me help you,” she said, coming around to face me with a bunch of napkins that had been scrunched in her hand. I could see her pulling earbuds out of her ears, and the green flashed in front of me, then the braids, then the yellow sweater. It was
her
.

“I’m fine, really,” I said, not meeting her eyes.

“You have Diet Coke all over you,” she said. “It’s going to get sticky.”

“Does Diet Coke even get sticky?” I asked. “There’s no sugar in it.”

She looked exasperated and handed me a bunch of napkins. I halfheartedly ran one over my neck and shirt.

“Thanks,” I said. “I have to get back. I think someone moved my backpack when I went to the bathroom.”

“You left it?” she asked. I turned to look at her. By now she must have noticed I was different, so I was just wasting my time pretending and trying not to be seen.

“Yeah, it was so crowded and I didn’t want to lose my seat,” I said.

“But it’s the airport,” she said. “You can’t leave things unattended in the airport. Someone will think it’s a bomb.”

“Oh, I hadn’t even thought about the bomb thing.” It occurred to me to question why she had her eyes closed while the plane was boarding if she was so interested in airport safety, but I decided not to.

A voice began to talk into the microphone, and we both turned to look, moving toward the gate at the same time. I walked to my seat, which was now occupied by an old man, and she walked right toward the gate. I nodded as we parted ways.

“Was there a backpack here when you sat down?” I asked the man. He had greasy white hair and must have been at least eighty.

“Shhhhh,” he said, putting his finger to his lips. With
his other hand, he pointed to my backpack, which was propped up against a wall. Then he pointed at the gate agent. “She’s going to tell us something.”

What she told us was that all flights were canceled. Every single one of them. The relief at finding my backpack was quickly replaced with panic. A night with absolutely no place to go—a night of being in a huge, crowded room with nothing to hide behind—was one of my nightmare scenarios that had not even occurred to me as a possibility. Why did I think I could do this? It was turning out to be more than I could handle. I did what anybody would do. I called my mother.

She didn’t pick up, so I left a voice mail telling her about the weather and asking if she could get me a room at the hotel that was connected to the airport—which happened to be affiliated with her travel business—since I doubted I could get one myself. I also mentioned that I had sent the bunch of CDs I promised her with the noises from our house and neighborhood. I was actually pretty excited about them because there was a bird that drove us crazy, and I was able to record it the afternoon before I left.

I quickly calculated that they were seven hours ahead, so it was almost midnight for them. It could go either way if she’d get the message today or tomorrow.

Next I called the hotel. I was right: no luck, all sold out.

I hung up and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I
looked across the room and saw the girl, her shearling coat spread out behind her in the same way it had been on the airplane. Maybe it was her weapon against the germs and dirt of the airport. She was listening to her iPod again, but her eyes were open this time. And, without giving it too much thought, I let my eyes meet hers. She smiled quickly—almost tersely, I would say—shifting her eyes to the window. My phone vibrated in my hand.

“Hey, Mom,” I said. “Or should I say
ciao
?”

“Hey, sweetie,” she said. I missed her already. “I just happened to check my phone one last time before we hit the hay. You’re all set—there’s a room waiting for you. Just give them our last name—it’s paid for. Go check in, order room service, and watch a fun movie. Call me in the morning and let me know what the status of your flight is.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, not wanting to hang up yet. “How are you guys?”

“We miss you, but it’s beautiful here,” she said. “We can’t wait until you visit in March. We keep talking about all the things we can do together.”

At that moment I wished I could go right then, that I could forget about getting myself to the East Coast and just go straight to Europe.

“That sounds great, Mom,” I said.

“Bye, sweetie. Don’t forget to call me in the morning,”
she said. “Oh, I almost forgot. Sid wanted me to say ‘Go, Bulldogs!’ ”

Usually I would say
Go, Bulldogs
back—we’d been saying it back and forth since October. But I didn’t feel like it.

“Tell him I miss him” was all I said.

Slowly I put my book into my backpack and slipped on my coat. I could have avoided walking by the girl, but I would have had to squeeze between two tight rows of seats—it would have been so obvious. Besides, I had nothing to lose, so I walked toward her and turned left just before her seat. She looked vaguely annoyed.

“Where are you going?” she called out, surprising me.

I stopped. She still had her earbuds in. I didn’t know if she had turned the music down or off, or maybe it was still blaring in her ears.

“To the airport hotel,” I said.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “I called and they’re all booked up. I also called a cab company and apparently the streets are almost impassable. So I think we’re stuck here.”

“I got a room,” I said.

“That’s impossible,” she said. “I called even before the final announcement about tonight’s flight.”

“Huh,” I said. “Well, I have a reservation.”

“That’s impossible,” she said again.

“My mom’s travel company works with the hotel,” I heard myself explaining. “She called and apparently they
had at least one room left because she booked it. It’s waiting for me. I’m just heading over there now.”

“Wow,” she said. I could see her eyes light up. She seemed so much friendlier suddenly. “Do you think it has two beds?”

“Maybe,” I said. For some reason I was not at all surprised by her question. I had the distinct feeling that the universe was out of whack and normal rules didn’t apply. I sort of liked it.

“You could come along and we’ll see. And if not …” I let the words hang in the air. She frowned and rolled her eyes, but responded by gathering her things. For a second I thought she was going to hand me her coat to carry, but she didn’t. I was glad because the truth was, if she had, I would have.

Neither of us talked at first. I could have asked
Where are you from? Where are you going?
But I didn’t want her to think that I was going to talk all night. Later, when we talked about this moment, she told me she wished she could have just kept listening to her iPod, but she knew that would be rude. Maybe she should have.

We were almost there before either of us spoke.

“I’m Vanessa, by the way,” she said, reaching out her hand. It was one of those memorable moments because, as strange as it may sound, even when people are nice to me, they don’t usually volunteer to touch me—unless they know me, of course. I looked at her for a minute before I took her hand and shook. And then I smiled.

“I’m Tim,” I said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Maybe if we’re going to spend the night together, we
should know each other’s last names too,” she added. Was she flirting with me?

“Okay,” I said, trying to sound casual when really my heart was beating so fast and hard I was surprised she couldn’t hear it. “I’m Tim Macbeth.” As soon as I said it, I wished I had said something cooler, like “It’s Macbeth” or just “Macbeth.” But I couldn’t go back.

“I’m Vanessa Sheller,” she said, smiling a smile that I didn’t quite trust but that I liked anyway.

We pushed through two sets of heavy doors and went down one escalator before we reached the entrance to the hotel. I love hotels—they make me feel calm and hopeful, in a weird way. I think also that they make me feel like I’m escaping something. Are you starting to sense a theme here? But that was not what I felt when I entered this lobby. It smelled like hot, sweaty, anxious people with some wet dog mixed in. Almost every single possible surface had someone sitting on it—chairs, sofas, even the coffee tables. Some people were eating, others were sleeping. A bunch of little kids were playing ring-around-the-rosy.

I had never checked into a hotel alone before. There had never been a need. But I didn’t want Vanessa to know that. And adding to my anxiety was the fear that these people were going to mob me when they saw me get a room key. I glanced around for the front desk and was happy to see it off to one side. I could feel the eyes on me as I walked toward the exhausted-looking teenage girl behind the desk,
but as I moved, I realized that not
all
the eyes were on me—a fair amount were on Vanessa.

“I’m sorry, we have no rooms left for the night,” the girl said before I even opened my mouth.

“Oh, I know,” I said, stopping short of saying my mother called. “I have a reservation under Macbeth.” I waited. I might not have ever checked into a hotel alone before, but I had stood next to my mother or Sid many times and I know how it’s done. She click, click, clicked at the computer with a skeptical look on her face.

“Huh,” she finally said, her eyes showing her surprise. “And it’s a nice one. You’ll be in room 956 with two double beds.”

“Thanks,” I said. I didn’t add
I told you so
.

Vanessa stood next to me like she belonged there.

“Two keys?” the girl asked.

“Yes,” Vanessa said before I could.

We waited while the girl activated the keys, put them into a small white envelope, and slid it across the marble counter.

“Enjoy your stay,” she said like a robot.

Again, I felt like none of the normal rules applied. I was seventeen years old; I had no idea how old Vanessa was, but she had to be in that ballpark. Nobody asked to see ID, or if we had luggage. We simply turned in unison, avoiding the eyes of the room-hungry crowd.

“So foul and fair a day I have not seen,” Vanessa said when we got on the elevator.

“What?” I said, not sure I had heard her right.

“Come on, you have to know that play, don’t you?” she said, smiling. “Shakespeare’s
Macbeth
? I studied it last semester. With your name, how could you have avoided it? I’ve always loved that quote because it’s like one bad thing and one great thing at the same time. You know? Like the weather is awful, but we got this room. Something bad and something good.”

Of course I had read
Macbeth
, but I didn’t know any of it by heart. Still, I felt I owed her something.

“In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight,” I offered.

“Green Lantern?” she asked.

I had to admit, I was impressed.

“How did you know?” I asked. I was so curious.

“I have brothers,” she said. Then she tilted her head and looked me right in the eyes. “Let me guess: it’s the only thing you have memorized?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

By then we were out of the elevator and walking down a hall that smelled like new carpet, following the signs to 956. Just as we found the room, my phone rang. While I reached for it, Vanessa grabbed the small envelope, opened the door, and squeezed in front of me to go inside. I stayed
in the hall to take the call. It was my mom, wanting to see how it went at the hotel. I felt a little annoyed. I didn’t miss her like I had an hour before. And, besides, wasn’t it the middle of the night where she was? As always, she wanted details, but I wanted to get into the room. She knew I was rushing her, but I didn’t care.

As soon as I hung up, though, I wanted her back. I wanted the comfort of sharing a room with my mother and Sid, not some strange girl—no matter how cute she was. I stood in the hallway for a moment longer than I had to, thinking about how I would get through the night ahead.

“Tim?” Vanessa called from the other side of the door. “Are you coming?”

Again, Duncan waited for more, but Tim had stopped talking. He was starting to understand that he wasn’t going to be alerted to the end of a thought or CD. Just as he was about to press Stop, Tim’s voice started up again. Duncan wondered if he had just paused to collect his thoughts, or if he had recorded the next part at another time and the dead air was an accident. He hoped he hadn’t missed anything on the last CD, but he didn’t think so; there didn’t seem to be any holes in the story so far. He tried to imagine Tim sitting somewhere, talking into a microphone, but he couldn’t. All he could conjure up was the image of the last time he saw him. Or, worse, the time before that.