knowing when to leave

delta air lines & a bathtub (a short fiction piece)

(This work is a piece of literary fiction. Key details and names have been altered for privacy and narrative purposes.)

As I look down at my feet, conveniently shoved under the seat in front of me, trying my best to occupy my mind with something other than the ridiculousness of all this wasted future planning, I recall the last time I was sitting in the same position, observing mysterious bruises on my knees under microscopic judgment. Granted, it wasn’t a Delta flight, and my head wasn’t hurting from the muffled sound of crying toddlers through my clearly not noise-canceling enough headphones, but something takes me back. I was in a bathtub, two lit candles on my right side, men’s 3-in-1 shampoo on my left, and the whistle of a boiling kettle coming from downstairs. Quiet, impending doom. You know you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be when you feel like the last kid to be getting picked up from daycare.