London Airports

We’re in your car. And when you nod towards the right, I follow.

You remember that time at the airport? When you still lived in Seville?

I smile.

There it is, over there, you point. The airport.

I noticed a plane go over earlier. Thought it might be.

You nod. Yeah. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been back since all that.

Since me?



It’s inconvenient, you say. But you always found cheap flights so it made sense.

We drive along silently. 

Did you know you’d do it? That time you, ya know?

What? I ask. Miss my flight?

No. We both knew you’d do that. I just mean did you know you’d … wanna do that, I guess?

Dramatically exit the airport and wave you down, leaping into your car?

You grin now.

No, I was scared. And I was so scared that I couldn’t even make up my mind if I was actually gonna do it – or regret it instead for the rest of my life, I pause.

Both choices seemed equally painful.

You knew you’d do it, though.

I didn’t. Not consciously anyway. Back then, everything with you just seemed like one big cinematic impulse, I muse. I don’t know that I was ever really sure what I’d do.

But you loved the chaos.

Sure. Had not a penny left to my name, and I gained quite a bit of weight, but I did. I loved it. I loved you. And you brought chaos.

You ignore the last part.

God, you complained about that weight to the brink of insanity.

I shrug. Guess that’s why I ended up in rehab.

Oh Jeez, gonna blame me for that now?

No. I’ll blame my house mom and her anorexic diet, forcing me to hide and sneak cereal in my bed every night.

You did that in my bed too, you remind me. Anyway, wonder how that cunty bag of bones is.

Who knows, I say. I Googled her a year or so ago – was looking for a picture of the kid.

Did his mugshot pepper Google images?

I smile. No, he’s still too young to go to mugshot jail I imagine. Anyway, not the point. So I was looking around for her and her stupid radio show –

Wasn’t it like “Lleventame conmigo”

I don’t think that’s correct Spanish – but yes.

You roll your eyes. Potato – Patahto.

That sounds the same in British.

Go on, then.

I smirk. So, I find this picture of her from like 2018, right?

Last year?


Okay. And?

And… I pause.

You make a face, informing me to go on.

And, I actually don’t know. I start to laugh – grinning out the window. I actually don’t have any idea where I’m going with that. So, yeah. I’ll end that story here.

You snort. Well there’s a minute of my life I’ll never have back.

I smile. Anyhow, she still looked like a witchy cunt.

Thanks for the update.

 Did I do that back then?

Tell pointless stories?

Yeah, I grin again. I dunno. Get off topic.

Don’t remember anymore really, you say. S’pose you had a tendency to ramble on, but it was usually when you were hammered and trying to fit in.

Fit in? I ask indignantly. You made me feel included with your friends, though.

Didn’t matter, you say, switching lanes. You wanted them to like you outside of me, which I appreciated in retrospect. I never told you that when I was with you. I should’ve. I’ve never been with anyone else since who cared that much about impressing my friends.

I agree with a lazy nod, my head on the back of your car seat. I felt so out of place back when I first met them.

You were, you say. Remember when you lost a diamond earring in Laura’s kitchen?

Oh God, I make a face. So embarrassing. But that fucking earring was expensive.

I don’t know still which was worse – you inching around on your knees like a beaten handmaid in that shithole, or Laura making lame excuses for the rancid termite fest she lived in.

Whichever, it was awkward, I laugh.

Yeah, she didn’t know whether to pawn the thing or give it back.

My mom, I say. I just had this vision of my mom and her disappointed eyes. Her lesbian daughter drunk and losing diamond earrings in Manchester, England.

Hey now – there are worse places than Manchester.

Well, I knew that.

You grin, softer than before.

Fuckin’ memory traps. Get you every time.

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