Late by Leyla Yılmaz
Throughout college I never slept through my alarm. I had places to be and things to get done… always. I’d wake up as early as 6 and I’d have no trouble dressing up. I used to enjoy taking long and cold showers before my eyes could adjust to the luminosity of a new day. It would be red and violet, it would be orange and blue, the sky. It was as dark as it was bright and there wouldn’t be a day when I’d sleep through such beautiful view of the morning. I’d ride my bicycle to the farthest cafeteria on campus because it had the best pancakes. And I wouldn’t mind spending all that time for the smallest things that accomplished to make me joyous. Pancakes made me feel absolutely blissful. The thick maple syrup, golden brown like the vast deserts of Africa… It would take hours for the syrup to pour down from the porcelain bottle onto my neatly stacked, fluffy pancakes but I’d wait. I wouldn’t shake the bottle and I wouldn’t tap on it to make the tempting syrup pour out faster. I’d wait… for the syrup to flow like waterfalls in stop motion. And even that blonde leisurely stream of maple could instantly make me content.
Today, I didn’t even hear my alarm go off. I’m not considered old yet I feel my senses diminishing day by day. I’d be able to see miles afar in an amphitheatre or a football field but now I scrunch my eyes before the TV screen that takes up nearly half of my wall in the living room. Talking with friends, I feel it harder to actually hear what they’re saying. My mind drifts elsewhere and before I realize I’ve completely detached myself from the conversation, they come up with a question. So I nod and if it wasn’t the answer they’ve been waiting for I nod a bit more. I get lost in between dreary dialogues so often that at the end of the day an excruciating pain develops on my neck; it is because of all the nodding.
I nod to my boss the most. In fact, I unconsciously signed myself up for a business trip by nodding to him yesterday. And now I’m late. My plane boards in an hour. The amount of traffic is insane and I’m still not dressed. It has gotten harder to dress. My body rejects every piece of clothing. Leather or polyester, Corduroy or cotton… Sometimes my skin itches, sometimes I feel trapped and often, I’m just self conscious of my flesh that’s growing bigger, older and more frigid by the night. I put on my blouse and pants nevertheless and get out.
It’s brisk outside when I leave my flat on Unity Road. The sky is indigo with grey clouds embedded on it. The morning has long passed and I am late for my flight. I take the subway to avoid traffic and pray that I won’t accidentally fall asleep on my way there and miss my stop. Coffee-less mornings are hard, perhaps even harder than dressing up.
When I finally get to the airport it doesn’t take a lot of time to get through security because I have no personal belongings, I never do. I feel it’s easier that way. Through security I realize my plane must have already boarded but there’s no point in checking the time. I could easily avoid the truth and post-pone that feeling of shame. And so, I move on. I decide it’s best if I push through the crowd of people on the check-in queue without giving them an excuse so I’ll be faster. I’m already sweaty and move extremely quickly that people are grossed both of my attitude and my horrific smell. Some smirk, and some yell after me but I can’t risk missing this flight.
-Miss I’d like to remind that there are people in front of you.
-I know but I’m really late!
It seemed like the woman at the check-in desk was aggravated because of my smell too. I could see she was doing something weird with her face, like she was allergic to me, like I’d made her feel very uneasy.
-Your ID?, she asks furrowing her brows.
I hand in my ID to her and wait, thinking what always takes their computers so long. Technology seems unbearably primitive at times as such.
-Miss, it seems Alice Young has already boarded the airplane.
-But I am Alice Young.
-The computer says otherwise.
-Then check again! I have to be on that plain or I’ll miss my meeting and I’ll get myself fired!
-Miss Young, someone with your ID number has already boarded the plane. On time. I’m afraid I have to call security.
... the story will continue in the next issue