Page 6 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“You okay?” Mom asked as I sat staring at the front of the tiny regional airport which would whisk me to Denver to catch a connection to Paris. Nonstop. Over nine hours. How I would sit in a seat for that long, buckled in, and not explode with anxiety, excitement, and the urge to break into dance in the aisle I had no clue.

“Yeah, just thinking about things.” The sun reflecting off the glass windows of the airport made my eyes water. That was what I was going to blame the tears on if Mom asked which she would.

“Honey, you are going to do amazing things over there.” She patted my twitching thigh. “I predict you not only land in the top three but you win the competition.”

My lips quirked as I tore my sight from the rotating doors leading into the airport to look into dark, dark eyes the exact color and shape as mine.

“You’re so biased,” I replied as a hot, dry wind blew through the Bronco. The twins and Ivy sat in the back, unnaturally quiet. I looked back at them. All three were staring at me as if I were going off to war and not merely taking a flight to France. “Want to come inside to say goodbye or do it out here?”

“Can we get something to drink inside?” Keira asked. Mom nodded, so the troupe piled out of the car, Ivy taking my free hand and my carryon while I yanked the borrowed suitcase out of the back. The closer I got to the check-in gate the faster my heart thumped against my ribs. This was really it. I’d dreamed of this day for years. Spent late nights bent over an old sewing machine creating visions in textiles that had previously only been sketched out onto whatever paper I could find lying around the house. I’d taken classes in high school that had gotten me ridiculed and beaten up. I’d endured slurs, slings, stones, and one notable day in my junior year, sloppy joe being whipped at my head. The path here had been hard. So damn hard but now I was here, staring at a pleasant young woman waiting to check my bag and print out my boarding passes.

Ivy tugged on my arm. I ripped my gaze from the Nomad Air ticket counter to look down at my best friend. Her eyes were dewy.

“You promise me that you’ll text me every day,” she said while the twins bickered over who got to buy the first soda. Mom looked frazzled. It was way too early for her to be up but she had insisted on seeing me off.

“Every hour of every day,” I vowed before she threw her arms around me. I slid mine round her, cinching her close. “None of this would have happened without you,” I whispered as an old couple slipped around me to drop off their luggage.

She pulled back to look up at me. “Bullshit. The only thing I ever did was kick Ralphie Jones in the gonads back in first grade when he was trying to make you wear Susie Miller’s hairbow.”

I glanced around. Old folks were busy bitching about the extra weight of their bags, Mom and the twins were having a whispered but stern discussion by the soda machine, and the airline clerk was smiling her ‘God save me from having to deal with the public smile’ at the elderly couple.

“Ralphie Jones asked me to blow him in junior year,” I confided. Ivy’s eyes rounded. “Seriously. I didn’t because he’s a jerk but he asked. Now every time we see each other he looks away in case his wife catches him staring at a dude.”

“That explains why he ran off that time we bumped into him at the movies. Man, now I feel kind of bad about kicking him in the nuts. Maybe he’s just a closeted bi dude.”

“Maybe. Anyway, the point was that you’ve been with me forever. This happening is so much down to you.”

“Nope, its all you. I just wear your fabulous creations and boot assholes in the balls when required. Now go say goodbye to the fam before I start crying.” She kissed my cheek then stepped away. Mom, with the twins now properly hydrated, gathered me in for a family hug.

“Will your bring us souvenir’s from France?” They asked in unison.

“I’ll bring home the most amazing thing France has ever created,” I promised, thinking of possibly buying them a small Eiffel Tower magnet or some gloves from a fashionable boutique. Ah man, the clothing stores. I hoped we had time to shop but that seemed unlikely. We’d be spending all day in the shop sewing when we weren’t being dragged out for location shoots in various secret spots. Everything was hush-hush. NDA’s out the ass had been signed along with a fat contract filled with legalese we had to get Millie’s cousin Ted the lawyer to read over before signing. Operatives for the CIA didn’t have as many documents to sign I was sure. Another cost out of pocket we did not have. Fuck but I had to win this contest, or at least land in the top three. I’d get a small cash prize for making it to the grand finale. Now that the designers had been announced the ban on discussing things with others had been lifted but for a few weeks it was locked down tight. Now they wanted us talking. Everywhere. All over our social media. They had press runs set up once we were in France. Podcasts, morning TV shows, daytime talk shows, po-up events in Paris, and network platforms. It was insane. Men were hitting on me from all over the world. Women too even though my TikTok and IG bios said I was gay. My Insta had gone from two hundred followers to two hundred thousand in the forty-eight hours after the cast reveal. It was still climbing too…

“Sir, if you’re looking to board Flight 425 to Denver you’ll need to check your bags now as you still need to get through security. Boarding will start in ten minutes,” the clerk in the bright yellow uniform called out.

“Crap, okay, I have to go.” I hugged the twins once more then drew my mother in for a massive hug. “I love you. Thank you for…everything.”

“You never have to thank me for loving and believing in you. Now go before you miss your plane.”

Mom gave me a tiny push. I hiked my carryon back to my shoulder, gave them all a wobbly smile, and jogged up to the desk. Once my bag was tagged and my passes were in hand I turned, waved, and bolted for the TSA line feeling as uncouth about flying as I was about dropping into Paris with not a lick of French language skills.

I’d never left home before, never flown, and it was about to show big time. Mom said it would endear me to the viewers. I suspected my mother was feeding me a line of bullshit. The counter clerk who was waiting to scan my pass when I skidded up to the gate, knocked over the sign with zones 1-4 and zones 5-8, and then hurried to right it did not find me endearing at all if his sour look was any indication.

“Sorry,” I panted.

“Whatever. Have a nice flight.”

I was starting this adventure off with a bang. Literally.

***

Color me immature but I was having a great time on my first flight.

The movies, the view of clouds beneath us, the food. I’d seen lots of comments over the years on how crappy airline food was but I was loving it. Maybe people who ate out at fancy restaurants turned their noses up at the curry chicken or cheese manicotti meals but I ate the shit out of them. The guy next to me, a skinny twinky guy with red curls, picked at his fare as he darted glances at me vacuuming mine up.

When he pushed his dish aside untouched I had to speak up. Wasting food was a crime in my house. It was too expensive to toss into the garbage. Even my picky twin sisters knew that rule.

“You’re not going to eat that?” I asked around a mouthful of spicy chicken.