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“Miss is this your bag?” one of the security guys asks me while pointing to my red travel tote. Of course, there’s something wrong with my bag. Ah, no comment.
“Yes, it is,” I answer him sharply and a little too bitchy.
“Do you mind if we open it up?” the guy asks with a blank expression. He’s just doing his job, Rita; no need to snap at him.
“Go ahead,” I try to be a little nicer. I am a nice person! I don’t know why I am acting like a jerk right now.
Wait. Who am I kidding, I was thinking about Yan, my asshole of an ex-husband, and that made my mood go sour. But I will fix that. No more negativity.
New rule.
God, I hope I will remember all my new rules, or rather, newly reinforced rules.
The security guy looks through my bag, and after seeing that all I have there are a thousand and one snack and my Kindle, he lets me go, telling me that next time I need to take out the e-reader before the scan. I knew that, and it’s my mistake for having this bag check now. So, I try to implement my new rule.
“Thank you, and I am sorry for leaving it in,” I respond with a sweeter-than-life – almost manic – smile. Annnd he’s looking at me like I completely lost it. One second, I am a bitch, and the next, I am all daises and roses. Oh, whatever. At least I fixed it.
Great, let’s get to that gate, B37.
As I make my way over, I see a couple of elderly ladies looking very lost. I should come up and see if they need some help.
“Hello. I’m sorry, but maybe I can help you guys find your way?” I say to them with a smile on my face. I do know this airport to a T. Helping them won’t take much of my time or energy. Plus, I will gain some good karma points.
I need those damn points to make up for all the shitty choices I’ve made over the past couple of years.
“Oh sweetie, that would be most wonderful! We are a little lost. On our ticket here it says we need gate B13, but on this departure board, our flight leaves from B40.” A sweet older lady who is probably someone’s amazing grandmother looks at me like I am an angel sent from above to help them. Thankfully, their problem is easy to solve.
Not like mine…
All we must do is go up to the counter and ask an employee which gate is the correct one.
After checking, it is B40. So, we make our way there together going the same direction.
I still have this lingering feeling that someone is watching me. Doing a quick sweep around with my eyes once again, I don’t see anyone I know. Hmph, so strange.
“Sweetie...?” Oh, oops. I think this older lady is talking to me.
“I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“I was asking, ‘What’s your name?’”
“Oh, it’s Margarita, but please call me Rita.” I offer them a small smile, but inside everything hurts because I said that name. I can’t believe I hate my own name. Then, of course, he is the one who ruined it for me.
Margarita, Margo, Margaritochka no longer exist. All those names my family used to call me, ceased to exist. I am Rita now.
Crap. Here we go again.…
