The gentle whir came to an end, as did her once dream career. She stretched her arms as best she could within the seventeen inches she had and opened her eyes for the first time in hours.
“Disarm, crosscheck, and all call,” came those familiar closing words though the cabin PA.
Zoey stood up, opened the overhead bin, and slung her black extra-small North Face duffle bag over her shoulder, then deplaned with her default vacant gaze, trudging through the all too familiar terminal.
At 33, her lanky and girlish and Korean features emphasized her teenage look even more than her lack of make-up and the casual American Giant sweatshirt, her Nike running pants, and Adidas Sambas.
Not even the black coffee she bought after stopping off at the Dunkin’ was working to snap her out of her funk. But even antipsychotic medications had not been able to do that, yet. If anything, they were contributing to her feeling of spaciness. Even with her long nap, she felt drained and lifeless.
It was six in the morning on a cold fall Sunday. Being a Catholic American girl who, growing up took great joy in both Sunday’s Mass, the scent and taste of big breakfasts of waffles and kielbasa that followed, and watching football all afternoon, she wanted to do none of the above. She needed some alternate form of recovery…something more potent.
She was in no rush this morning, spending most of her mental energy trying to process everything. Letting out a sigh and giving a shrug of surrender, she took out her phone and speed-dialed the van service for her pickup. Sipping ever so slowly from her large coffee she was uncertain what the purpose of everything thus far was.
After twenty minutes that passed like a second, the white van showed up and a kind old man who looked like he should have retired a decade ago got out and approached her for her bags. She was the van’s only passenger on this trip. The driver tried to make conversation but could tell she wasn’t looking for it and let her be.
As the van set out, Zoey’s blank stare evaporated, and her eyes darted around the scenery outside with attentive curiosity. A brand-new Mercedes broken-down midway through the Sumner. Ventilation fans turning in the O’Neil. A LifeFlight helicopter on its way to Mass General. Steam rising from the rooftops of buildings out over on the Charlestown and Somerville sides, after they crossed the Zakim.
As a kid, she liked to watch game shows on TV. In her mind, she likened her 1/3-complete life to a losing spin on Wheel of Fortune: she had a bit banked up, took a spin, and then landed on Bankrupt. She had to start from scratch with nothing and almost no one. It had all been taken from her.
As the van crossed the Massachusetts and New Hampshire border, she started to think: What now?
throughAnd then it occurred to her: she had a blank slate now and could start anew. Her eleven years in espionage was a chapter closed.
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