Double-Teamed at O'Hare Security
Flying home for Christmas was pretty much my least favorite part of the year. It's not that I didn't love my parents - although our relationship was...complicated - but I loved my life in Chicago. I had graduated college that May and was now working full-time in a job I loved after flogging my guts out as an intern for two summers. I had everything I wanted, for now.
Plus, I just downright hated airports. Always have, always will. The O'Hare airport, a forty-five minute train ride from my apartment on the North Side, was a particularly bad offender. With sprawling terminals, confusing traffic patterns, and, worst of all, nonsensical security arrangements, it had my anxiety high the moment I stepped off the Blue Line and onto the escalator at 9:15p.m. My flight was at 11:45; my parents were all the way in California, and the late-night flights were the cheapest. Being early to the airport helped me calm my nerves.
Once I was inside the double doors, I took off my coat and tied it around my waist. I'd dressed for comfort, of course. I tried to find a middle ground between the gray snowy landscape of the city and the warmth of LAX, where I'd arrive in the wee hours of the morning after a layover in Denver. That meant layers. A loose fitting tank top, sweatpants, and slides with socks. My most fashionable look? Definitely not. But, well suited for a long flight and a late-night layover? Absolutely.
In the chill of the airport, I found myself self-conscious. I hadn't worn a bra in the name of benign more comfortable for my plane napping, and my nipples were hard from the air conditioning. Though my tank top was loose, it was still a bit of a show at the right angles. At least, since all I had was my backpack, I could cross my arms over my chest to cover up a bit. I didn't want to bother paying for a suitcase, so my backpack was chock full of the essentials.
After checking in at the kiosk, I moved to security with my boarding pass and ID at the ready. For some reason, security was the part of the airport that made me the most nervous. I guess that's probably true for everybody, but it made me feel silly nonetheless. I was a 5'3" white girl with a Midwestern nice smile. Not exactly likely to be profiled by TSA.
These days, I kept my dark hair in a long bob, choppy bangs framing my face in front. I liked to think it was modern and youthful, but still professional. A far cry from the pink buzzcut of my early college years. I'd definitely put on the freshman fifteen, then the sophomore five or so, and then the graduation ten, and now I was curvy with 36Cs and nice round hips. As a teen, I'd been rail thin and a card-carrying member of the itty bitty titty committee, so this was a good change in my book, although I was certain Mom would have her share of off-handed comments about it during the holidays.
While I stood in the back of the long security line - two days before Christmas, worst time for traveling - my heart rate began to rise. There were a lot of people. And nobody was in a good mood, naturally. Lots of bumping shoulders without apologizing. Right behind me, a large family packed in with a screaming baby and two kids under seven tugging on Dad's sleeve for attention. I tried not to grimace, clenching my teeth and trying to focus on the task ahead. I studied my boarding pass just to have something to look at. I read my name - Patterson, Adrienne Rose- over and over.
I tried to be a security line master. I wore shoes that were easy to slip off, made sure I didn't have any metal, brought a separate bag for my laptop so I wasn't rummaging through things. I just wanted to get in and out without any hassle. But my anxiety was high. Blood pooled in my cheeks, leaving me ruddy and nervous. The dad of the family behind me was standing too close for comfort, brushing up against my ass every once in a while. I couldn't tell if he was doing it on purpose, but it was enough to put me near the edge of panic on top of my usual airport stress.
When it was my turn, I kicked off my shoes into the bin and placed my laptop carefully. Once I was a few people away from going through the metal detector, I eyed up the security guards. Much to my surprised, I recognized one of them. My ex-boyfriend, Beck. I knew he'd used to work TSA as a side job, but had no idea he'd gone back to it.
Most people hate seeing their exes in the wild, but Jon and I left things on good terms. We broke it off about a year ago because we wanted different things. He was 27 to my 21, so he wanted to get married right after I graduated, while I wanted to focus on my career for a few years after school. We still checked in with each other every few months, stayed friends on Facebook, all that.
God, though, he was still gorgeous. He had light brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and warm, kind hazel eyes. His hair was longer than we'd been together, pushed back and wavy. Think Jake Gyllenhaal after he put romcoms behind him. He was naturally more tan than me, even in the winter. He was tall, at least compared to me, and had broad, muscular arms that could easily lift me up against a wall. My only regret about our breakup was losing the sex. On several occasions, I'd thought about offering up a friends-with-benefits dynamic with him, but figured it would be too complicated since he wanted to move on. I was a bit jealous of whatever girl he had to be dating at the moment.
The sight of him made me even more nervous. My blush went from pink to red. Thankfully, he was tactful. After noticing me in the line, he gave me a small smile, then tapped the other guard on duty on the shoulder. They switched places. This guard was black, clean-shaven, and smaller than Beck, with neat waves. Where Beck was sturdy, he was tall and lanky. Once I approached the metal detector, I could read his nametag: Dante. He had a nice smile as he greeted the people who came through ahead of me.
Still, my heart raced as I went through. I knew I wasn't doing anything wrong, but the metal detector made me the most anxious. Dante smiled and directed me to stand at the center. I lifted my arms over my head and tried to steady my breathing. My backpack, shoes, and laptop went through the scanner to my left. Dante gestured for me to come out of the metal detector.
"Stay here for a minute, ma'am," He said, calling Beck over to look at the screen.
Oh, god. My mind raced. Did I forget something in my backpack? Some bottle of perfume? Was my shampoo in too big of a travel container? Had I forgotten to empty my water bottle? I tried to reassure myself that whatever it was, I'd be able to throw it away and move on.
Beck looked me up and down and said, "We need to ask you a few questions. Do you mind stepping aside?"
I squeaked out, "No problem."
With shaky hands, I collected my backpack, shoes, and laptop. Once I had myself together, I followed Beck around a corner to a small room. Tears bit at my eyes; I was fighting off a panic attack. I hated airports, and this sort of thing had never happened to me. Chances were I'd go to my gate and cry for a while before my flight started boarding in an hour. Par for the course for me when it came to flights, anyway. So many people were crying at the airport that nobody usually said anything.
The room was small, but it was nothing like the dimly lit gray interrogation rooms you see on TV or movies. The walls were sage green and the lighting was good. There were a couple comfortable chairs surrounding wooden tables. There was plane-themed art on the walls and a little kitchenette with counters, a fridge, and a microwave. Beck closed the door behind us.
Clutching my backpack to my chest (probably suspicious, Adrienne, quit it), I asked Beck, "Did I do something? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he almost laughed, but his expression was sympathetic. "It looked like you could use a minute to yourself. I know what your breaking point looks like, remember? This is the security break room; my break just started, so I figured I'd rescue you. Take a minute to breathe and relax, head out to your gate when you're ready. You're all good."
Immediately, I was touched by the gesture. The nerves in my chest began to dissipate at the thought of him still wanting to take care of me after all this time. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, I know how much you hate airports." He gave me a wave that said 'no big deal.' "You don't need to be out there with all the holiday freak outs."
I loosened my grip on my backpack and set it down by one of the chairs. I sat down and leaned back, trying to take more deep breaths. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."
"No worries. I still want to help you out when I can." Beck shrugged, always so casual and collected. He'd always been my opposite in that way, cool when I was all sorts of nervous. "Can I get you anything? Coffee?"
"I'm going to try to nap on the plane, but thanks."
"Is it alright if I sit with you? I can go out to one of the lounges if you want." When I said it was fine, I'd like the company, he grabbed a soda out of the fridge and popped it open. He sat in the chair across from me. "You flying back to California?"
"Yup. You know the drill; Dad picks me up and complains about the drive-"
