A Scare at the Airport
Fiction
“Sarah, slow down!” I yell through the rotating doors as my 7 year old daughter slips through the door and heads for the window to watch planes take off. My wife, Megan, and 4 year old daughter, Hannah, are bringing up the rear as we all enter the airport. Megan and I herd them into a corner to hopefully spot our plane landing. There was some texts from the airline saying the plane may be a few minutes late. I think they said it was weather out of Chicago or some BS.
“Ok, you guys wait here and I will check our bags.” I say to the three as I haul away the heaviest bag that will be allowed on the plane. Seriously, we are only going to be away for 2 nights and we have two giant checked suitcases and everyone has a carry-on plus a bag or backpack. I think the kids packed every electronic and toy possible. I can’t talk too much shit because although I put my clothes in with the kids, I also have a bag and backpack as carry-ons. My excuse is my camera gear, but I guess that’s as important to me as the kid’s tablets for Minecraft are to them. As long as they don’t fight on the plane I am cool with them hauling an Apple II on the plane.
Standing in line to check the bags I turn back and just watch them. It’s fun seeing them so excited. We’ve all flown before and this isn’t a particularly exciting trip but fun none-the-less. Sarah and Hannah can’t get over how they just chuck the bags from the carts to the conveyor belt on the plane. They are pointing and cheering while the poor guys below are sweating their asses off. What an ironic moment, those two men are loading and unloading luggage in 95 degree weather, probably getting just above minimum wage, while people heading to fun exotic places for vacation watch.
I step up to the counter after about 20 minutes of waiting in line, “Hi, I just need to check these two,” I say as I hand over my ticket and place the bags on the scale. Smooth like butter, as they take the bags and hand me my receipt. Finally, we are all ready to go to our gate. The airport here in KC is odd compared to others. The check-in and baggage check are similar to other airports but when you head into security to get to your gate you only have access to a few gates. It’s shaped like a big ‘C’. On the outside is the non-secure side and the inside of the ‘C’ is the secure side. I think most other airports funnel you into a central checkpoint then you go into a mall styled terminal. In KC, as you walk along you can see all the gates through a glass wall. The ‘C’ being cut down the middle by this wall.
“Let’s hit the bathrooms and then on to our gate.” I excitedly say as I walk back to the kids’ corner. The kids scramble to pack up all their stuff. “Did you really have to get all that crap out?” I ask as I kneel down and help shove toys into their bags. Of course the fighting starts as we walk towards the bathroom. “That’s my book, ““That’s my…whatever…” I kind of tuned them out.
“Hey Megan, look at this guy,” I say quietly to my wife as we pass some dork in a long coat with sandals and board shorts on.
Trying not to stare and laugh Megan responds with “Maybe it’s his rain coat?”
My wife grabs the kiddos, hands me their bags and says “Ok, I’ll take the kids in and you wait here.”
“Fine. With. Me.” I say and throw my hands up. Taking two girls to the bathroom may be the worst part of being a parent. It’s awkward and a hassle. I am fine leaning against a wall and people watching.
The airport is busy but not Christmas Eve busy. You’re not having to fight your way through crowds but the movement of the crowd is slow. I really do like watching the airport crowd. People from all over the, well, in KC probably not the world but more likely the Midwest. Still they are happy and hugging and talking a mile a minute. Trying to greet and tell stories of their travels in the same sentence. There has to be more said in the short period of time when someone is greeted at the airport then at any other point of their day.
The dude in the awful rain gear looks to be in the same boat as I am. He’s about 15 feet from the bathroom door leaning on the divider wall of the terminal. I look over, trying not to be too obvious, and he sees me. We give a cordial “what’s up” head nod to each other.
“He’s seems pretty nice.” I think to myself.
Just then, the very fucking second, as I am saying this to myself, I see it. Through a break in the crowd, just a split second is all it is out but I recognize it clear as day. The machining on it is shiny, edges are crisp and sharp. It has to be custom because it has this crown shaped nose tip. It’s an AR-15.
I am now nervous, well about to shit myself, but keep cool. Just nonchalantly looking around for security. Of course none are in sight. I check my phone but service is out…fucking Sprint. Seriously, at this very moment, I have no service. Only in some made up crappy movie does this happen.
I can’t leave my spot and have my wife and kids walk out without me there but I want to get this off my hands and let the pros deal with it. Haha right, I doubt KC airport security has sufficient training for this but they have to be way better than me, which is zero. It doesn’t look like anyone else walking by has seen the gun.
As I am making plans to be heroic and save the day, kidding, plans to GTFO with my fam, my kids and wife walk out of the bathroom. I ask if everything came out alright, as I always do but lean into my wife’s ear and tell her the dipshit with the rain coat is also carrying an assault rifle. As I expect her to flip out, she simply holds the kids a bit closer and picks up her pace just a bit. We walk to a sitting area that is a cutout in the wall. It’s protected and out of site of the weirdo in sport sandals.
Megan turns to me and says, are you ready for this “What the fuck are you going to do?” Not in a “my man better do something to protect me” way but in an “I’ve lost all rational thought, I’m scared for my kids, you take the wheel” way.
“I’m not going to do a thing.” I say back. “There is no reason for me to get involved and nothing is even happening or will happen.”
She responds with “Think about Hannah, Sarah and I.”
As she says it, all I can think about is the fact that she actually said “I” instead of “me”. God, years of playfully correcting her, has worked. Shit, but that is so unimportant. Back to reality I come. Plans start rattling through my head. We can just walk out. We will not go to our gate, that’s for sure. I can get security but the first dude to show up or possibly even walk by is dead. The worst is getting shot. Second is being a hostage. That would scar my kids for life, ain’t nobody got time for that. Ok, he’s seen me and I was nice. If I walked by to get a better look I might be able to come from behind and take him out.
I am not sure where this is coming from. I am a conscientious objector. I am antiviolence to the core. I am scared. Thinking again, what did I mean by take him out? If I choke him he may stab me or blow us up for all I know. I could just knock him the fuck out and be done with it.
Megan breaks my train of thought with the appropriate “What is going on? Are you going to say anything?”
“Ok, take the kids and walk down to the next exit door and keep going to the end of the terminal. If you find security tell them what’s going on.” I say with a sudden injection of authority.
“And what are you going to do?” she asks.
“Take care of this. Now go!” I say as I push her and the kids in the opposite direction of the gunman and my movement.
I walk past the dipshit with a gun. He is leaning on his right shoulder facing me. Nothing happens, not that I would expect something to, I don’t think he even noticed me. I go past for a few seconds walking time and turn around. His back is facing me, still leaning on his right shoulder.
Now, I’m big but have never fought. I am also right handed. If I really am going to try to knock him out it will be left handed and the outcome will be a total surprise for us both.
“Am I really going to do this?” goes through my head as I go into autopilot and walk towards him. I’m still arguing with myself when…I throw a punch that has all my effort. I mean, I wind up as if I am throwing a fastball from the mound in the last out of the World Series. As my hand is moving through the air my mind clears. Very similar to a movie scene when a huge battle is about to start and the two sides are staring each other down but no one is moving or making any sounds. Total and clear anticipation.
He just starts to turn his head as my fist collides with his jaw. He folds onto himself like Glass Joe from Punch-Out!!. I’m sure he is, well was, surprised as I am. I think “God, that felt good!, I saved the day, I’m a hero and that that was easy.”
I stand over him looking for movement. People around me stop and stare in astonishment. They’re probably thinking I’m some asshole with road rage or something. At this moment my neck flings back and my head hits something hard and I am flying to the ground without time to react. My brow hits the concrete floor.
Nothingness. Is that a word? There is nothing, not even black just floating or lack of floating because you have to be in something to float. Just nothing.
I hear a faint call from my wife. “Megan, are you ok?” I barely mumble, “What happened?”
I try to open my eyes but they hurt like hell and they are wet. I reach to rub them but my hands are behind me and not moving. My heart jumps and adrenaline kicks back in. I’m awake.
I frantically yell out “Megan are you ok?” All I hear is a laugh.
“Yes, we are all ok.” She surprisingly says.
I ask “What is going?”
I hear a deep voice respond. It’s not my wife or kids so I yell over it. “Megan, what’s going on?”
She says “its ok, just hang on a sec.” as she reaches down to me and wipes my eyes. I hear her turned the other way asking “can we get the cuffs off?”
“I’m in cuffs!” I exclaim.
With my eyes now clear I see a bunch of police standing around. It takes a second but I notice they are all talking, joking and the feel is very different then I was expecting.
Some uniformed dude kneels down to me and says “you’re a hero!” and everyone around starts laughing. “Just kidding, you knocked out one of our guys that was working a training operation.”
I see my wife and kids off to the side. Hannah and Sarah are shaken a bit but look fine. My hands drop to my side and I roll over and sit up. I see blood on the floor, I’m guessing its mine because as I reach up and touch my face, it is wet and my eye hurts something fierce. My head is clearing a bit. I turn to the jokester and ask “why the fuck are you running a training operation in the airport? Don’t you think someone would freak-out?”
He looks at me and says “Like you did?”
