Goodbyes Are Hard

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Washignton D.C., U.S.A. 2017.

It was time. Finally.
Shaking hands grip my bicep and without looking up from my phone I pull my arm away. My gum has lost its flavour which sucks.
“This sucks.” I say.
His hands move from my arm to my waist, pulling tight. The feather tucked in his hair tickles my nose and I try not to sneeze. My chest feels damp and it’s now I realise he’s crying. I put my phone back in my pocket and pat his head.
“I’ll miss you.”
“It’s only a month.”
“Forty days.”
“Whatever.”
He pulls his head from my chest but leaves his arm around my waist. I sneak my phone back out of my pocket and pretend I can’t hear his sniffling. A mechanical voice plays from speakers above us.
“Unattended baggage will be incinerated.”
Sweaty fingers slip through mine and stick there like butter on toast. I distract myself with the news. Some politician has been filmed rubbing his wang against Uluru and he looks furious when a reporter asks if it’s because he’s a bigot. He bemoans that there’s no decency left in the world and I’m poked with the pointy end of the feather.
“Stop.”
“I want you to take this. For good fortune.”
“It looks diseased.”
“Just take it.”
I sigh and shove it in my shirt pocket. Two pilots walk by in jackets with gold trim and matching flamboyant chains. Their company logo is emblazoned on each of their foreheads.
When they’re across the gangway and inside the plane a voice calls passengers forward for boarding. He’s crying again and before I can stop him he kisses me. I keep perfectly still until he pulls away.
He hesitates before leaving to join the queue. I smile thinly and wave hoping he can take a hint. Instead he reaches up to his left ear, shuts his eyes and grips his earlobe. He pulls and without resistance his ear comes off in his fist.
Blood spurts from the side of his head, splashing a lady in the face as she runs past. She doesn’t stop.
With red stained hands he offers me his ear.
“Take it.”
I roll my eyes. He’s always doing stuff like this. I snatch the ear from his hand and mumble thanks.
“So we can talk.”
“Yep.”
“Because it’s my ear.”
“I get it.”
He smiles and I wave. This time he understands because at last he walks away. I watch him stumble down the ramp to the gangway, looking over his shoulder back at me. Blood pours from his skull.
I wait until he is inside the plane and out of sight before spitting out my gum, wrapping it in his bloody ear and throwing both straight into the trash. I take the feather out of my shirt pocket. Instead of doing the same I roll it between my fingers, watching it twist in the air. I put it back.
With headphones in and no music playing, I make my exit.
Finally.

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