Steel Eyes and Fireworks

Oliver; that was the name emblazoned on the gold plate pinned crookedly to the man’s chest. She tried that tactic next, saying his name slowly, drawing out the syllables into a request. He shook his head, looking rather—in her completely bias-free opinion—like a sullen child. 

“M’am,” he said, clacking away at his infernal keyboard. “There is just not any room for you.” Dawn gritted her teeth, clutching the thin fabric of her sweater into a ball in front of her. All she had bothered to bring was the equivalent of a child’s sleepover bag; pajamas, toiletries, a different colored, slightly thinner sweater, and a bottle of Advil. Well, maybe a child wouldn’t have stuffed a bottle of pills into an emergency bag, but God help her she was not going to deal with another splitting headache and have nothing but “lie down,” as a solution. She had hastily stuffed all of this into a black backpack when she’d heard the news. Her mom had not beat around the bush. She’d been perfectly ready to suffer through the dreadfully long conversations about golf and book clubs, until the call took a startling turn. 

“So, we were thinking–”

“-Your father’s not well.” Well, any thoughts of golf flew right out her head. After a terse few words, Dawn stuffed whatever she remembered into the bag and peeled out of her driveway. 

The airport was like white-tiled, luggage-filled hell for her after that. Not only did the security line come to a standstill—the infant in the stroller behind her was not best pleased—but she’d nearly lost her wallet when she put it down for half a second to anxiously check the time. And now there was no room for her on the only flight to Florida for almost nine hours. Dawn craned her neck, looking past him, briefly considering making a break for the plane. A foolish notion, but one that crossed her brain nonetheless. Panic welled up in her throat, and she looked again at the man—Oliver—with tears glistening in her eyes. 

“Please sir, my father– I have to get to him.” He just stared at her, and she’d seen that look one too many times. It was the look that said, I am not paid enough for this. She wiped at her eyes, her ragged breath fogging up her glasses. Dawn turned and set her passport down, mouth open to argue even with the tears spilling from her eyes and rolling in unlovely tracks down her face. 

“M’am, I can book you on the next flight to Florida at 6 AM tomorrow, alright?”

“No!” she felt herself shouting. “Not alright! I need to be on this plane.”

“There isn’t a way I can make that happen, Miss.” Then, as an afterthought, “Sorry.” Raw fear bubbled up inside her, each breath a struggle as Dawn clung to the front of her sweater like a lifeline. 

What if she didn’t make it in time? What if her father was already gone? What if she never got to tell him “I love you” as many times as he deserved? What if—

“Excuse me.” She was startled away from the list of what-ifs that was gradually becoming a messy-teetering stack, set to come tumbling down and spewing everywhere like a tall pile of papers. Thanking God for a different voice from Oliver’s monotone, slightly condescending drawl, Dawn turned,

“We’re in the middle of someth—” The rest of the sentence got lodged in her throat. 

Tall; that was the first word Dawn thought that could encompass the woman. Tall, and then gorgeous. This woman belonged on the cover of some Vogue magazine, not in an airport, collared shirt slightly rumpled and a busted carry-on in her delicately manicured hands. Her steel-gray eyes flicked from Oliver to Dawn then back. It felt a little stupid to be noticing this strange woman’s eye color, reflecting on the sheen of blue and silver that seemed to flicker across it in different light, when tears still clung unapologetically to her eyelashes. The woman shifted the bag in her hands, brushing dark hair from her eyes. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but uh, I might be able to help.” Dawn loosened her grip on her shirt, wiping at her tears with the back of one shaking hand. She was distantly aware she’d probably smeared black mascara all over her face, but couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

“Really?” Her voice crackled uneasily over the word.

“I booked an extra seat next to me for my luggage, but I’m pretty sure you need it more than my bags do.” Oliver clacked quickly at his keyboard, lifting a mic towards his lips.

“Flight 3745 now boarding; Gate C56. Groups One and Two please form a line.” Dawn glanced down at her phone, eyes flicking with panic, searching for a missed call from her mother, the message that would reduce her to nothing. The screen remained blessedly empty. She shoved the phone in her jeans pocket, a tear slipping down her jaw. 

“I– don’t know what to say.” Dawn turned her big, watery eyes to the stranger. “Thank you.” She didn’t know what she was doing until she had thrown her arms around the tall lady, carry-on and all. She heard an intake of breath, delicate hands uncertainly patting her back. As Dawn pulled back, she knew that some part of her was embarrassed—she had just bear-hugged a complete stranger—but she also knew that the larger part of her, the louder part, was too grateful to care. 

The next thirty minutes crawled by, every minute counted as Dawn watched the digital clock on her phone’s home screen tick by. When they finally called for boarding, Dawn practically ran to the front of the line, second only to an old gray couple who hobbled up to scan their passes. Her own boarding pass shook as she scanned it, the scanner pausing. Dawn had a brief moment to panic before it flashed green and she hurried her way onto the plane. Row 9, Seat K, was what the paper read. She anxiously trotted in place behind the old couple as they took their seats, then swung into her aisle and stared pointedly out the window, willing the plane to get into the air. Knees bouncing, she was sorely disappointed when twenty minutes later the plane was still stoic on the runway. 

Her hands seemed to be unable to still, content to flash her phone screen at her, every few seconds checking for that call. Green caught her eye and she held her breath until the notification turned out to be an alarm from Duolingo. She angrily closed it out, feeling a warmth settle next to her. She turned, trying—failing—to give the woman a smile. Her carry-on was still held in both hands, her dark hair falling out of its holder. 

“Are you alright?” She asked, brows drawing together. Dawn sniffed, impulsively checking her phone. She’d forgotten about the tears. 

“...Yeah.” No. Not at all. Dawn looked down, avoiding those steel eyes. Soft fingers brushed against her face, wiping the mix of tears and makeup away. Dawn jolted, looking up with eyes wide with some breed of fear. The woman drew back.

“Sorry, I— My agent says I need to work on my people skills.” A disbelieving laugh left Dawn’s mouth, falling awkwardly in the silence. “My– name’s Kyra,” she offered. 

“I’m Dawn.” She felt that awkward silence stretch into a blanket. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Dawn.” Kyra set her bag between her feet. 

“You too.” Her voice cracked, tears springing to her eyes in the quiet. 

“Is there, er– anything I could do? To help?” 

Dawn didn't have an answer. All she wanted was to make it to Florida, run into the house, and make sure she had time to say goodbye. So she settled for a shrug. Kyra sat back, her head turning to look at Dawn with a clear, searching gaze. It scanned along her skin the same way her therapist’s eyes did, and she turned towards the window. She didn’t need two therapy sessions, not yet. 

The plane finally lifted into the air, shakily rising through mild turbulence. Dawn understood the turbulence; it was only fair for the plane to have to be at least somewhat as shaken as she was. As the seatbelt sign flicked on, Dawn flicked the searing light of her phone on, swiping down to hesitantly press her thumb against the Airplane Mode symbol. While she did so, she could have sworn she saw a call alert. It vanished and she inhaled sharply, quickly turning service back on. She scoured the notification box, finding… nothing. Dawn leaned her head against the seat, sighing. Maybe she was seeing things. Hopefully she was seeing things. Almost against her will, she felt her eyes droop, her head resting against the window. The struggle left her body as sleep took her in its comforting arms. 

She woke up with tears on her face, finding her phone had slipped from her grasp and rested on her lap. She turned numbly to Kyra, who had a book resting on her knees and was reading—in the dark, like a psychopath—a thick book. Dawn sat up, and Kyra smiled warmly at her. It made a dimple appear in her right cheek. 

“And she wakes.”

“How–” Dawn rubbed her eyes. “How much longer?” Kyra glanced at her phone. 

“Hour or so.” She closed her book, sticking a feathered bookmark between the pages. “Why did you need to get on this flight so badly? If you’re alright with me asking.” 

Dawn felt hollow, empty of any more tears to shed. She had the completely unnecessary blare of Ariana Grande music in her head before she muttered, “My Mom called; said my Dad’s really not well, and y’know, now I’m here.” Kyra let out a breath, turning to pull Dawn into a hug. Normally she would have shimmied out from the arms encircling her, but to be honest, she really needed a hug right now. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, “That’s awful.” Dawn nodded into her shoulder. The seatbelt sign pinged back on, and she pulled away from Kyra to slide the metal together. For the rest of the flight, Dawn stared blankly out the window, watching clouds scurry across the sky, undeservingly cheerful in their movement. At some point, Kyra had nodded off and leaned lightly against Dawn. She couldn’t bring herself to move, to risk waking the model sleeping on her. The plane began its shuddering descent, startling Kyra out of sleep. She wiped her mouth, blinking quickly. Her hands reached down to pick up her carry-on, placing it on her lap. Her phone cast a washy light over her skin as they hit the ground. They stopped. The moon hung heavily in the sky. Kyra’s eyes glowed silver in the light. Dawn felt unable to move, the weight of all the emotions swirling through her veins turning to lead. She shoved herself to her feet, phone and bag in hand. With trembling fingers she switched off Airplane Mode. Scanned her home screen. Found it blank. 

Outside of the gate, she watched Kyra walk away, something twisting in her chest. 

“Wait.” 

Kyra turned.

“I need to pay you back for this,” Dawn said hoarsely, walking in quick strides towards her. The tall woman, who couldn’t have been much older than her, tilted her head. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” she replied, shaking dark hair from her eyes. 

“I want to repay you anyway.” Kyra took Dawn’s phone, already open, and typed something in. 

“There. If you absolutely need to, you can try and pay me. But if you just want to talk… Well, I’m never very busy.” As they turned, a brilliant flash of light sparkled behind the airport glass. Fireworks. She’d completely forgotten it was New Year’s Eve. Kyra stepped closer to Dawn, her face glowing red, then green, then gold. Dawn couldn’t look away from the glittering explosions, captivated by the bursts of color. A slim arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she leaned into the weight, watching the end of the year blow itself to shimmering pieces. 

-

Almost two years later, the same two women stood, clasping hands as they watched the fireworks. Dawn rested her head against Kyra’s shoulder, glasses slipping down her nose. 

“Any new resolutions?” She murmured to the woman next to her, whom she still mentally referred to as “the model”, despite knowing her name inside and out. Kyra turned with a small smile. 

“Only to find some better words to express how much I love you.” Dawn felt heat filling her cheeks that had nothing to do with the explosions. 

“‘I love you’ works just fine.” She glanced again at the sky, watching a gold burst scatter into silver flecks. Kyra’s eyes turned that color as she turned Dawn’s face to hers. 

“How about, ‘I adore you’?” Kyra asked, that small smile playing at her lips. Dawn leaned up on her tiptoes. 

“Yeah,” she breathed, “that works too.” 

Kyra’s fingers twined in her hair, pressing their lips together.

And her world exploded into fireworks of a different kind.