Suitcase in hand

Suitcase in hand, you head to the station. The airport is over an hour away but you left with a little over two hours because you know it is better to arrive early than late. By being early at least you could walk around the airport and enjoy the activities and shops it has inside. If you’re late, even by a few minutes, you’re at a risk of missing your flight that you spent hundreds for.

The weather feels great today. Even though you only have a t-shirt on, you heard from friends who traveled long distance say that you need a sweater on an airplane, especially the ones which travel at high altitude. You go prepared and stick a sweater inside your suitcase. 

Walking outside your apartment, you feel the humidity and polluted air of your loud city. You wave to a taxi driver who stops his taxi between the street parking and the busy street. 

“Hurry, ma’am,” he shouts over the commotion. He peeks out the window. “I’m not allowed to stop here.”

You rush off the sidewalk and hop inside the passenger seat, laying the suitcase on your lap. You catch your breath before putting on your seatbelt. The heat from outside pressed against the window, but there’s refreshing air conditioner air spilling inside the taxi. 

He turns to his window and waits for the speeding cars to zoom by before merging on the street. “Where to ma’am?”

“Central station, please,” you smile meeting his eyes. Even though you have a smile on your face, worry descends upon you to whether you’ll make it at the station on time with all the traffic. A ten-minute drive could easily turn into a thirty-minute drive with a lot of traffic. You have twenty minutes to arrive to the station if you want to make it at the airport a little early. 

Looking down at your watch you ask him, “How long do you think it’ll take, sir?” You can almost hear the time ticking inside your head. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Maybe fifteen minutes or longer. Depends on the traffic,” he turns to see you and reads your panicking blue eyes. “You need to get there faster?” He asks, eyeing your hands, which didn’t seem to stop fiddling on your suitcase.

“Yes, I have ten minutes to get there,” you lie to him. You must arrive at the station in fifteen minutes to give you sometime to purchase your ticket, but the train won’t leave for another twenty minutes. 

The driver became quiet for a moment as if thinking of a different path to reach the airport. “There is another road I could take… It’s a highway but it’ll cost you another five dollars because of tolls,” he keeps his eyes on the road. “Is that find?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” you say, quickly. “Fastest is the best. Even if I have to pay the tolls.”

The taxi driver takes an exit on the road and he zooms past a few cars. The drivers of those cars swear and honk at your driver, but he responds with laughter and continues driving you to the station. 

Your taxi driver arrives at the station ten minutes after, leaving you with ten minutes to buy a ticket and grab a coffee from a coffee shop. 

“Mmm,” you say, sipping your coffee as you make your way to the tracks—the train leaves in three minutes. You board the air-conditioned train to find your reserved seat, just in time—the train pushes away from the station and makes its way towards the airport with a few stops before.

Many people are also heading to the airport—their luggage kept close near their feet. You sit down at your seat by the window and lay your head on the window to watch the train chug away from the crowded city. Your eyes slowly shut and fall into a light sleep. 

You wake up but there are two more stops till the airport station. Half-dazed, you look beside you and see someone sitting next to you. You frantically look around searching for your suitcase—as it has been replaced with the man in a suit. The suitcase is nowhere to be found around you. 

“Have… have you seen a suitcase?” You ask.

The man senses your voice his headphones then removes them. “Excuse me?” He says with a dazzling smile glued to his face.

“Have you seen a suitcase?”

“No, ma’am,” he said in deep voice. “I found this seat empty once I came on.”

The man’s eyes assisted yours to look around, but the suitcase was big and could be easily spotted. The suitcase is nowhere to be seen. The man said something, but your mind is lost with the suitcase. 

“Excuse me, sir,” you say, trying to step into the train aisle. The man wraps his legs closer to his chest. The scent of masculine cologne flies around the man and then inside your nose. You rush through the aisle and check the seat all the way to the end of the train cart. But none of them contain your bag. You let out a loud, panic sigh hearing all the kids yelling in the back. 

You rush back to your seat and notice the man had his eyes closed while listening to some music. Pausing for a moment, you think to whether he took it but then realize it couldn’t be him. There isn’t a spot where he could hide the suitcase without it being obvious. Besides, his suit probably costs more than everything you have inside the suitcase and the cologne he wore worth more than the suitcase itself. 

Continuing to the front of the train cart, you keep your eyes peeled open at people's seats and any items near their legs. Everyone had their personal items beside their legs or on top of their laps. 

You raise your head and you see it, peeking at you from the train luggage racks. A sigh of relief leaves your body along with the worry. The train conductor must have moved it to the train luggage racks because it took the man's seat. You leave it on the rack and return to your seat, knowing its exact location.