The first time I saw her, she sat in the airport with her carry-on bag in between her knees and her purse strapped across her body. She had excitement in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She anxiously twiddled her thumbs and tapped her left foot. She didn’t have her earphones in, like any other 17 year old girl would have. She looked like she would rather get up and run to her destination rather than sit and wait for even a few more minutes, but it wasn’t impatience, it was hope and passion. Where ever she may be headed, she was excited to be going there. She looked like a young child getting a puppy as a surprise present. When she got up to get on the plane, she nearly skipped. She was so excited to be leaving.
She sat in the airport once again, with her carry-on bag on her lap, her arms wrapped around it tightly. She had tears in her eyes and the sleeves of her hoodie were stained with makeup. Her hair was tied up in a bun, her lipstick was smeared, and her mascara was dripping off her eyelashes along with her tears. Her earphones were in and sad songs played over and over and over. She looked like she wanted to bust through the airport doors and scream “I can’t leave,” but she didn’t have the option. There was restraint and hatred acting as an orb around her.
I imagined her saying, “I hate you” to the person putting those tears in her eyes every time she got the chance and as she checked her mascara before she went to board the plane, I realized she did.