Episode 006

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Roots and Wings

 

                The Boston roadways were packed with cars.  Horns littered the air with a perpetual din, filling the blue sky with a constant cacophony of complaints.  In the city heat, the sidewalks baked.  Pedestrians made better time then the automobiles beside them as they walked gingerly along.

                A young woman stepped out from an alley.  With a dirty face, she looked up at the sky, her hands stuck in the straps of a worn hiking backpack.  Dressed in cut-off jeans and a red flannel shirt over a grimy white tank top, her blonde hair was done up in a bun while she carried a guitar case nonchalantly.

                She looked back behind her at a black-haired girl with darker skin, who carried a school backpack that looked ready to bust open, and a sleeping bag that dangled from a shoulder strap.  In jeans and a black over-shirt, she tried to smile.

                “Come on, Amy,” the blonde girl said with a confident nod.  She started down the sidewalk.

                “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Amy grumbled, her stomach making a louder noise.  She clamped her hands over her narrow waist, then grinned comically wide.  “Sorry.”

Her cohort smiled sympathetically.  “We’ll stop and get something fast before we head on.”

“Head on where, Lisa?” Amy sighed with an exhausted voice.

                “The airport.”

 

 

                Amy stood by the dumpster, keeping watch in the empty alley as Lisa’s legs dangled over the side.  The sounds of cautious banging echoed against the brick walls as Lisa kicked and fought against the metal bin.  “A-ha!” she finally announced.  With a kick, she dropped back onto her feet, holding two apples in her hands.  She tossed one to Amy and slung her backpack onto her shoulders.

                Amy considered the apple with delight, then bit into it.  She winced.  “Oh, their mushy.”

                “Just means we have to chew less,” Lisa insisted optimistically, biting into her own.  She led the way out of the alley and turned the corner.  As Amy followed her out, there was a rush of noise.  The two girls stopped as a gust of wind cascaded against them.  They both looked up to the sky, covering their eyes as an airplane descended to the tarmac not far from the café.

                “I wish we could fly out of here,” Amy said wishfully.

                “It’d be nice,” Lisa agreed.

 

               

                The complex airport was crowded.  Cars and buses shoved their way through the narrow drives up along the terminal.  The parking lot wavered in heat trails while passengers braved the heat to pass through into the terminal beyond.

                Sitting in the shade at the passenger drop-off, Lisa and Amy leaned against the cool stone wall of the airport.  On Amy’s sleeping bag, Lisa strummed her guitar, the case opened to the people beyond.  Inside it, a few coins shimmered against the red velvet lining.

                Amy stared at herself in the mirror, studying her face.  Marred from the exposure to the city, her high cheekbones stuck out as prominently as her ribs.  She glanced up as several people walked by the two girls, none of them giving pause.

                Lisa looked up from her guitar and saw a few middle-aged men approaching.  She began to strum cords from Stairway to Heaven, seeing the recognition in their eyes.  One man dropped a few coins.  As they passed, some college kids began to approach.  She switched to playing Master of Puppets.  One of the boys noted it, but did nothing more than smile.

                “Why’d we come to the airport again?” Amy asked, still studying her thin face.

                “People are usually in a better mood at airports,” Lisa answered, checking the tune of her guitar.  “If we go to a store or a mall or something, they’re defensive of panhandlers.”

                “They’ll be defensive here,” Amy said.  “They’ll think we’re terrorists.”

                “No they won’t,” Lisa defied.  “Not if you show some cleavage and appeal to the guys’ nature.”

                “What cleavage?” Amy gaped.  “I don’t have any boobs and neither do you.”

                Lisa looked down her shirt.  “Guess you’re right.”

                “We need to get something to eat,” Amy said.  “Something real.”

                “We’ll get some money,” Lisa maintained optimistically.

                “I know,” Amy lamented sadly, leaning back against the wall.  “I just, I don’t want to be here.  I want to go.”

                Lisa smiled bitter-sweetly.  “Go where?”

                Amy didn’t respond.

 
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