The Curbside, is the name it seems to be familiar with. No one enjoys this particular margin of the airport. It's a space you are placed with your luggage, the zone you say goodbye to loved ones and an area that is not afraid to call you out:
"You need to move your vehicle Sir, drive around you're forming a congestion." A traffic controller yelled out
It's loud as taxi drivers hunk to the person in front of them. Although it's against the law, cars still manage to stop in the middle of traffic just so their van of tourists can be unloaded in front of the door. Bumper to bumper traffic never seems to settle at LAX airport with hooligans like these behind the wheel. The fact that celebrities are constantly spotted in this general area does not tam the crowd very well, either. For as long as I can remember it has always been this hectic.
I can already spot the paparazzi lined up outside the building with their Tamron 150's on their shoulders. Before I can signal for Pat to drive forward he has already passed the gang and parallel parked along the curb.
I just want to be dropped off at the airport in peace; to not worry about what I'm wearing as people watch my every move. As hard as it my be to believe, I don't enjoy being bombarded while walking into a public bathroom.
Yes, there are times I wish I had never boarded the first flight to LA back in '98. Walking into Garrett Evans office and signing a two year contract is one of the many mistakes I've made.
But everyone makes mistakes, and sometimes mistakes are what you need to make in order to be the person you are today.
Aside from the mistakes I've made, there are many more moments where I enjoy the stardom I've created, none of which I regret. The thing I miss most since leaving home is not being able to see my family everyday. To tease my brother of his dinosaur collection, and make dinner with my mom are things I miss daily. But sooner or later we all grow up and our childhood home becomes just a memory. It's a temporary place to live before we can manage for ourselves.
I just wish I wasn't managing alone.
"You need some help, Mon?"
I must look like I'm struggling as I try to pull my suitcase out of the trunk.
"I've-" He doesn't let me finish before putting his hand over mine. Pat shows no sign of struggle as he lifts and hauls the bag out of the car and onto the sidewalk.
As I try to get my breath back, I put my hands on my hips and smile up at him "Such a gentleman." My tinted sunglasses block the bright sun that shines behind him "I'm sure Greg Ryan isn't getting this kind of service at JFK." I comment before sighing and making sure I have all my bags "I'm really going to miss you guys over there." I stretch out my arms to give my favorite driver a hug "Who is going to have my ice tea ready as I jump in the car?" I break away
"Your mother seems promising."
Chuckling, I grab the handle of my tall luggage next to me "My mother is a whole other story when it comes to the things I drink. Apparently, tea can give you kidney stones-"
He gasps "And you're still drinking it?"
Rolling my eyes I take my ticket from his hands that he generously held on for me. "Get in your car Patrick and drive away before one of these officials calls you out." I comment, teasingly.
Reaching up he shuts the door of his trunk "Alright, have a safe flight," He smiles "Don't forget to have fun, you're on vacation."
"I'd hardly call it a vacation..." I quickly say as he continues
"Enjoy whatever time you have off, I'll be here when you get back." He hugs me one last time before walking around to the drivers side. And just like that, I'm alone.
I pick up my bags, sling my purse over my shoulder and rest my small tote on top of my larger luggage. It may feel like I'm alone, but surely I am not.
Smiling, I pass my luggage over to the staff member waiting by the door. I love this service. It's calming knowing they will make sure my luggage gets on the same plane as me. I don't have to lug around a heavy bag for the next hour as I try to find the men wearing oversize earmuffs that will put my bag under the plane for me. Instead, I can relax by the bar and wait to board my flight with nothing but my carry-on beside me.
While I commenced towards security, I feel eyes on me. Like someone is watching my every move just as I make it.
Just when I thought I was paparazzi free, I hear their yelling.
Putting on my panama hat I try to hide my identity as I make my way through the gate. Unfortunately, I don't get very far when the gate agent takes my ticket and compares it with my ID.
"You're the Monica Geller."
My head bobs up and down slowly. Please tell me no one overheard her. The smile I'm known for is barely showing as I try not to draw attention to myself. But I think it's a little too late for that. I can't believe I actually thought I could get all the way home without being noticed.
That was a dream that should have been left in bed.
"I'm a huge fan!" She exclaims "Where are you heading off to?"
I'm sure she can figure that information out if she glanced closer at my ticket but I tell her anyway "New York." I say as she hands me back my things.
"New York!"
Turning around I find a loud Greek family waving their tickets in the air. "Us too!"
Oh, boy.
I don't ask for attention. In fact, I don't like being singled out. There are times where I enjoy interacting with my fans and autographing right over my face as they shove their flyer right in my line of sight. Truth be told, I find it rather flattering that, out of all the celebrities, they keep an advertisement with my photo-shoot on the front of their binder. I don't mind if you want to take a photo with me, nor do I care that all the memory on your camera is overwritten as we create an album together. I love my fans and the interaction I have with them every day. But it would be nice if they didn't tell me about their mural of photos hanging on their bedroom wall.
But when the day is over - and I get to relax knowing their is no new tabloid of rumors out on a newsstand - I do enjoy my job. I love the people and everything they stand for. I even love those 3 a.m. wake-up calls about being nominated for a Peoples Choice Award. But am I happy? Well, I guess that's a question that is yet to have an answer.
Smiling, I grab my ID from the employee and walk through the gate with a "Thank you."
I hate flying. The turbulence and the fear of being hijacked are my biggest concerns when handing the sturdiest my boarding pass. Who's idea was it to levitate 75 tons of aluminum into the air with people on board?
It was a stupid idea, I'll tell you that. It's a stupid idea that makes commuting a hell of a lot easier, though.
Walking up to the security entrance I find it packed with frustrated families and their children that refuse to take off their shoes. Old couples during their retirement years struggle to make it pass the detector without grabbing a hold of something to keep their balance. Thankfully, there are security men on the other side with their arms stretched out ready to catch them if they fall.
On the other side of the airport I can hear that huge Greek family shouting as they try to gather everyone together for a picture.
I love big families. The mishaps and irritated siblings create a great story for dinner parties.
Smiling to myself, I step up in line.
When I get close enough that I can reach the belt, I begin to take off all of my loose items. I take off my hat and sunglasses and tuck my layers behind my ears. Bending down I slip off my flats and grab a bin to put all of my belongings in.
"I like your toes."
I glance down at my newly pedicured toes before looking up to find a little girl standing beside me. Smiling, I slowly bend down to her eye level where I come face to face with a gorgeous set of light brown eyes. "Thank you, I love your braids." I tell her and she forms a huge grin.
"Thank you." She politely responds to her compliment.
Oh my God, I want one. How can you not want a little girl with bows at the end of her pigtail braids? She is gorgeous from head to toe and I instantly get the thought of her breaking a million hearts when she grows.
"Are you gonna fly on the big plane too?"
I nod "I sure am."
"I'm scared. I don't think it'll be fun."
I swallow the lump in my throat. Where is this kids parents? I'm not sure how to console a child when I have doubts of my own. Doesn't she know not to talk to strangers? I could have drugs or be a prostitute. I most certainly am not a prostitute with illegal drugs! But I'm pretty sure her parents don't know that.
"There's nothing to be nervous about." I try my best to reassure her "It will be fun! You get to see above all the cotton candy clouds." I smile for emphasis "And you can see in everyone's backyard, their pools and tiny houses..." She laughs, thinking it's funny.
"Do you think I will be able to see my home from way up high?" She grins with excitement
"Maybe? I shrug
"Alaina?"
Her mouth creates an "O" shape as her eyes widen. I assume that's her mother calling her name.
"Are you Alaina?" I ask, my face making that expression that tells her "I already know it is so there is no point for you to lie to me."
It's an expression that is very hard to master.
She looks guilty as she nods.
Standing up I try and search for a concerned mother throughout the crowd. It doesn't take me long to find a set of panicked eyes searching frantically just a few lines away. I can't imagine how frazzled she feels right now. Losing a child in the most terrorized location of a country can be a feeling of trauma in any mothers eyes. Surely every mother has lost a child before. Some I'm sure have lost every single one of their children, but it's never a numb feeling, your heart immediately shatters with fear.
My mother once lost me in a Wal-Mart to the point where they had to shut down the store. I was just 5 years young and my imaginable mind pretended the clothes racks were tree vines in the middle of the jungle as I zigzagged in and out of every single one. My mother lost track of me and reported that I was missing. Just seconds later my name was heard over the intercom. I watched from between the dresses as huge men with patches on their shoulders called out to me softly.
It only took me about 5 minutes to break out of my jungle gym and surrender. Thankfully, my mother was more relieved than angry.
Raising my hand I gather the woman's attention from across the crowd of travelers. Flashing a warm smile I point down beside me and I watch as her chest falls with relief. She holds the same face my mother did when she saw my figure emerge from around the corner. I remember looking up at the strong man beside me as he held my hand gently. He introduced himself as Officer Bart.
Officer Bart, a father of two, died in a house fire saving a little boy a month later. I attended his funeral three days after the tragedy; his bright blue eyes nowhere to be seen. It was my first time wearing all black. I was a child who loved color; the brighter the color, the happier I was. As my mother talked to the family and explained our relations to Mr. Bart, I found a little boy with burn marks on his arms sitting alone in the back of the room. Cautiously, I made my way towards him.
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if Officer Bart didn't die? If he didn't save that little boy, Chandler Bing would not exist.
Looking down at the little girl I see her eyes still fixed on my painted toes.
"Do you like to paint your toenails?" I question and she just shrugs.
Bringing my purse to the front of me I dig around trying to look for a specific item. I know I put it in here somewhere.
Her mother reaches us and quickly gathers her daughter in her arms "I was so worried about you!" She exhales before inhaling her kids scent. "You can't run off, sweetheart. There could be bad people that would take you away..."
Thank God, this mother knows what she's talking about.
"I'm sorry." I hear Alaina apologize, her thumb nail finding her teeth before she bits down softly.
Got it.
I smile when pulling out the Flamingo Pink ink from my purse. Bending down slowly I come face to face with the angel once again. "Now..." I spin the nail polish around in my hand "If it's okay with you mom," I glance in her direction before looking back at Alaina, whose eyes are fixed on the pink polish in my hand "I think this color would look way better with your beautiful braids." I tell her
She gasps "I can have it?" She cautiously reaches out for the object before looking up at her mother for approval.
"We couldn't-"
"Please." I stop her, standing up before my knees give in "I have way more than I can count."
She smiles grateful before it slowly drops. "Oh my gosh..." Her eyes widen "You're-"
"Going to be late." I look away, handing the little girl her new, but used, nail polish. Bending down I whisper "Remember, cotton candy clouds." She laughs as I wink "Have a safe flight."
Her mothers mouth is still ajar as I slowly step forward in the line and away from the family of two.
The minute I'm through the detector my hat finds my head again. All I want right now is to be on my plane; to be relaxed in my seat and popping aspirin.
As I walk around I find an empty waiting chair along the giant window; or should I say my happy place for the next half hour. With a sigh I make my way towards the chair before plopping down on the cushion. And just like that, my phone rings.
Taking my purse off my shoulder where I placed it after security, I swing it around and onto my lap.
"Where are you..." I dig around and it's not until then that I realize I should probably get a bigger purse. One that has many pockets for bobby-pins and lip gloss. Oh, and it must be turquoise with a short adjustable strap where I can wear it longer if needed. It'll be perfect if it had a little clasp in the front and a small zipper in the back. One that won't get caught on the expensive coach material, of course.
My phone buzzes with a new message as the ringtone ends. When I pull out the cell I see that I've missed a call from my mother.
Quickly, I press redial before she gets further from the phone.
She probably just wants to check in and make sure I'm at the airport safely, but just in case she doesn't "sucker punch me" off guard and ask me to bring a pie, I should probably call back. Last time I didn't call back right away she assumed I was dead on the side of the road somewhere.
I'm pretty sure my mother has the Armed Forces on speed dial and the government highlighted in the phone book.
I love my family.
The phone rings a few times before she finally picks up, she was most likely on her way to the bathroom.
"Yeah, I'm at the airport..already went through security. Now I'm just waiting for my flight to be called for boarding." I tell her as I cross one leg over the other, my eyes roaming through the poor civilians still at baggage claim.
"Yeah, I'm dressed in something approachable." I roll my eyes "Why does it matter what shade my lipstick is?" I know where she wants to take this conversation and I'm about to hang up if she mentions him one more time.
Okay, I'll admit, I've thought about Chandler more than once this past week. He was my first love, the person I ran to for comfort. When I first arrived in California there wasn't anyone else I wanted to talk to besides Chandler. I wanted his arms around me again as his lips pressed against mine. It's a feeling that I've dreamed about for months after leaving New York.
I don't know what's going to happen when I see him after all these years.
My mothers voice comes back to focus and I listen as she mentions his name. "Mom, I'm sorry, but they are boarding my plane right now. I've gotta go." And without much of a goodbye, I hang up.
Sighing, I sit there staring at my phone as it goes black.
Do you think anyone will notice if I don't show up tomorrow?
AN:
How many times can I use the word "I" in a sentence? Way to overuse that one, Rylee. Rereading this, I probably knocked out the word over 20 times. I really don't like how I wrote this chapter but whatever. I'm not rewriting this so...