Airplane Stickiness / by Karie Luidens

I unzipped my luggage: there was a bit of rearranging, a bit of shaking out wrinkles. Finally, with a pouch of miniature soaps, a towel, and a fresh change of clothes in hand, I quietly turned the knob and stepped out of the bedroom. 

The hallway was shrouded in shadow as I crept down to the shared bathroom. It was a cubby of a room with a toilet, a sink, and a shower neatly fitted under a fluorescent light. The lock bolted with a reassuring kachunk. Although the hot water never quite heated beyond lukewarm, the stall was clean and in working order. I shivered through the stream and let the sticky feeling of airplane wash down the drain. Finally, dressed and with my wet hair wrapped in the towel, I crept back to the room. 

Well. My eyes squinted blearily. The day was upon me. I locked away what I wouldn’t need and ran my fingers through my wet strands in an effort to untangle myself. Then I slipped out and headed down into the world.