Departures
I guess I’ll keep them.
“Can we share?”
Margaret looked up from her laptop and felt herself staring. The woman standing at her table was intensely beautiful.
“OK if we mix?” The stranger smiled brightly with photogenic teeth. “It’s so crowded.”
“Oh, yes!” Margaret stammered, gesturing to the chair opposite her. “I’m about to head to my gate, anyway.”
“Thank you,” the woman sighed, settling into her seat. “Don’t you just hate airports?”
Margaret closed her laptop. “Well, they are great for people watching.”
“I know just what you mean,” the visitor grinned. “By the way, you have incredible eyes! So blue. I’m jealous.”
Margaret smiled. She loved her “sparkly sapphire eyes,” as her daddy called them, just like her mother’s. She never considered herself pretty, but her eyes were special.
“Well, thanks. I guess I’ll keep them,” Margaret joked, getting up from her chair.
The stranger laughed and extended a perfectly manicured hand. “I’m Riva.”
Margaret grasped it and suddenly felt wobbly. Exhausted. She leaned against the table to steady herself. Riva furrowed her brows. “Are you OK? You look…”
“Tired, probably,” Margaret finished, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I think this trip is catching up with me.”
“Travel really is draining,” Riva agreed. “Anyway, thanks again for sharing.”
Margaret gathered her things and shuffled toward the restroom. She’d splash some water on her face. That might help.
* * *
Minutes later, under a staccato fluorescent light, Margaret gaped into the mirror. She didn’t even recognize the gaunt face staring back, with thin, flaky lips. Her papery, wrinkled skin was powdery grey, the same dull color as her tangled mass of dry, wiry hair, and she reached to smooth it down with a craggy, veined hand. But it wasn’t until she noticed her lifeless eyes—pale as dust, barely blue—that she screamed. The sound splintered against tile and stainless steel and dissolved into the roar of hand dryers and a final boarding call for flight 819.