“You must take off belly ring, ma’am.” His accent sounds Spanish. He uses his hands to show me that I need to lift my shirt. This can’t be happening, but it is so I slowly lift my shirt revealing a tiny belly button piercing. As if my embarrassment isn’t enough, he pulls out the beeper stick again and runs it over the piercing “just to make sure”.
Glancing over at Preston, I see his eyes are locked on my piercing instead of my face. He’s judging me. I was only eighteen and it was a rite of passage. I still remember Grandma Ned’s face when she found out that her grand-daughter had a hole in her belly button. She made me memorize the chapter in Proverbs that talks about the perfect woman as if to tell me that it was so far from what I was that it would do me some good to engrain it in my head.
Closing my eyes, I’m finally told I’m free to leave. Although Preston has an unreadable expression on his face, he has at least had the decency to grab all of my stuff. We waited for Kristin and Brad to go through then began heading to our gate.
“What an interesting piercing, Amanda,” Preston teases.
“I was eighteen.” It was useless to defend myself against this man.
“It’s funny; it shows you aren’t as controlled as you’d like people to think.” He leans down letting his peppermint breath fan my face and says, “I like it,” before catching up with Brad.
Kristin turns around noticing my discomfort and asks, too loud might I add, “Amanda why are you all red? Are you tired sweetie? Are you okay?” Why can’t women read each other’s minds? It would be so much easier on everyone. Preston’s laughing, I only know because though I’m behind him, I see his shoulders shake, translation, he’s barely able to contain his mirth. There’s no justice in the world, I hate that he knows how uncomfortable he makes me feel. It’s so inconvenient to wear your emotions on your sleeve.
We get to the gate in record time, meaning Brad was so obsessive about us getting to the airport two hours before our flight that we literally got to our gate two hours before boarding. This is not a good thing, there is not much to do while you’re in the Boise airport, except drink coffee and read magazines. If there were shops or at least bookstores I could find something to do. But a girl can only handle so many magazines and caffeine before a five hour flight.
Or can she? I notice that the coffee shop has already started selling their Christmas drinks. Well, one won’t hurt. Getting up, I go to the nearest stand and order a peppermint latte from a barista who looks less than pleased to have to put down her People magazine and help a customer. There’s something deathly wrong with society when people who are at work don’t want to work. When she finishes, I leave her a fifty cent tip hoping to cheer her up, but instead I get a weak smile and a “please come again”.
Rolling my eyes, I pass Preston who is thinking the same thing. Crossing my arms in frustration, I watch the barista jump up from her seat and ask him for his order. She twists her hair, yes twists her hair as if she is twelve, then tells him it's “no charge”. Before she hands him the coffee, I see her writing on the cup, with disgust I see a name and number next to the drink name. What is it with women throwing themselves at men? Particularly at Preston. He, with a sudden pep in his step, turns around toward me.
“Could you be any more disgusting?” Bumping into him to show my frustration, I roll my eyes while taking my seat.
“Excuse me for wanting free coffee? If it makes you feel better, I left her enough tip to pay for it and then some, if you’re thinking I’m a cheap person. Poor girl.” He smiled as he sipped his grande peppermint latte. We have the same taste in coffee? “Plus, I’m guessing if it would’ve been a guy you would’ve gotten something free, too.”
I think about this for a second then answer, “You're right, I would have.” Feeling better, I sip my coffee and look away.
“Challenge accepted!” He exclaims getting up from his seat next to mine.
“What do you mean challenge accepted?” This can’t be good.
He starts to pull me toward the down escalator as I turn around to yell for help from Kristin. But as per usual, she can’t read my mind. Therefore, she just waves at me as if I’m getting ready to go on a ride at Disneyland and bumps Brad as if to say, “Oh, look how cute they are going down the escalator.” The last thing she sees is me making a cut it out motion with my hand as my head ducks below to the first level.
“Look, a dude.” Preston points toward a nerdy-looking barista whose reading Theology Today with an interest I can only describe as a little too intense.