Meeting Josh

I woke every couple hours and tried to get back to sleep. But when I woke at 2am, I got up. I dressed. I put my trench coat on—one of the two items of clothing I had that didn't have a hole for my tails to pass through. I quietly took my bags out into the front room. I set them down to grab the phone book when the light came on. I turned. Dad stepped into the room with a single bag over his shoulder.

"Still trying to leave without me, I see," he said.

I didn't respond.

He approached and set a hand on my back. "We really do love you."

I shook my head and blew out my breath so I wouldn't cry. I picked up my bags and left the house. Dad followed. He helped me put my bags in the car. I climbed in. He climbed in after setting his own bag in the back. Then he drove us to the airport. We didn't talk at all. I kept my attention on the world outside. The city lights smeared as we drove by. Too bad the darkness didn't keep my dad's reflection out of the glass window as he glanced at me often.

When we arrived, I climbed out and grabbed my bags. I didn't bother to see if Dad was coming or not. I crossed the parking lot. I entered the building. I paused to look for signs that would tell me where to check my bag. Dad put an arm around me then walked with me to the Charlie Airline counters. He kept his arm around me while I checked my bag and while we walked toward security. A pretense of closeness that I wanted to shrug off, but didn't know how to.

We were nearing the end of the line when a young boy in a wheelchair caught my attention. He was leaning forward slightly. A strap across his chest kept him upright. A bag attached to a tube ran down to his arm where several pieces of tape kept the IV needle in place. His energy was different than those that had been in wheelchairs at school. Different than anyone I had been around before. I bee-lined for him and knelt in front of him.

"How many tails did he have?" I asked the woman standing next to him.

"How…? How did…?" she stammered.

"I apologize about my daughter," Dad said, pulling on my arm to get me to stand. "She's always been fascinated by disabilities."

"That's a lie," I said, pulling my arm away and crouching again.

"Kathrine, we need to go."

I ignored my Dad. We had more than plenty of time to catch our flight. I touched the boy's hands.

His head lifted and his glassy eyes met mine.

"Hi," I said.

He whined and wobbled in his chair before he reached out and caressed my cheek.

"How many?" I asked again, looking at his mother.

"Six… Sixteen," she said.

I nodded.

The boy gripped my hand and I turned back to him.

I patted his hand.

He tugged on my hand, pulling it towards him.

"I know what you've lost, and I'm sorry," I told the boy.

He shook his head and pulled on my hand a little more.

"He…," his mother choked. "He wants you to touch his scar."

"Is it alright with you that I do so?"

She nodded.

I slid my hand along the boy's side and behind him to the scar. There was a very slight movement beneath my fingers. Did they not remove the tails fully? I shifted my hand a little and felt more movement.

The boy smiled and laughed.

I smiled as well before taking my hand away. I took the boy's hands in mine again. It was the tails' movement that kept the pain from building. The tails that improved cognitive function like crawling did for those without tails. Was it possible for the tails to regrow once cut?

"You've made him very happy," the boy's mother said.

"Yes."

"We should go now, Kathrine," Dad said.

"We have time, Dad," I replied. "Do you still have the cream?" I asked the mother.

"How do you know about that?"

I let one of my tails slither out from under my trench coat and across the boy's hands. He squealed loudly and grabbed it gently. He stroked it and rubbed it against his face.

She turned to my dad.

"We couldn't bring ourselves to do the surgery," Dad said quietly.

"How many?" she demanded.

"Eighty-eight," I replied, wiping a tear off the boy's cheek.

"I might have the cream still. Will it bring them back?"

"I don't know. But it might be worth trying, even if it only helps to relieve his pain."

"I'll consider it. We need to go."

"Alright." I gently took my tail back. "Good luck," I told the boy.

He swayed in his chair and reached out to me. I gave him a hug. He held tightly and I lightly patted his back. Then I straightened and they continued through security. My dad set a hand on my back. I picked up my bag and walked with him to the end of the line. The line moved slowly, but steadily. I could have been like that boy had my parents cut my tails off. Then again, I might not have been with my parents had they cut my tails off and I returned to that pain filled state.

"Reconsidering surgery?" Dad asked as we neared the security checkpoint.

I said nothing.

I put my bag on the conveyor belt before submitting to the pat down. I felt uneasy when they felt around my tails. I was asked to stand aside for a moment, but all they did was wave a wand over where my tails were. Then I was free to retrieve my bag. Dad waited for me and walked beside me to the terminal.

"Do you really want to throw away what you have and end up like that boy?" Dad asked.

'Numbness may be preferable to loneliness,' I thought.

"Kathrine?"

"I don't want to discuss this, Daddy."

"Then what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't wish to speak at all." I pulled out a notebook, pen, and the writing prompt.

"What's that?" Dad asked, still trying to make conversation.

"A requirement I am to complete before I reach Houston."

"Requirement? For?"

I just shook my head and started to write.

I wrote several paragraphs before drawing a dividing line and starting over. I did this several times before I stopped and re-read the writing prompt.

'Tell us about a handsome boy who has everything—friends, a good family, wealth, and give him something to struggle with.'

This was going to be harder than I thought. I had been so used to writing about characters with nothing and hoping, wishing, dreaming, desiring with their very breath to find one person who would accept them as they were. Accept them at their core. How was I going to write a conflict for someone who had everything I myself always wanted? I stood, leaving my bag by my dad, and took my notebook to the window to ponder.

A boy—a man—who had everything. Like the popular kids at school, but more. True the popular kids were always surrounded by people, they laughed, they teased, they picked on others. But there was something that wasn't good/right and it made them unhappy, mean, standoffish. They acted happy around their peers, but were they really? At the core of their wealth, did it mean anything? Were they moved/uplifted by their lifestyle? Or was it just a facade for the world?

"Kathrine 88. Kathrine 88," a voice over the airport speakers called, pulling me out of my thoughts, "Please pick up the white courtesy phone. Kathrine 88. Please pick up the white courtesy phone."

I turned from the window to my dad. He pointed to a small booth next to me. In it was a white phone. I sat and lifted the receiver.

"This is Kathrine 88," I said into the receiver.

"I was hoping you hadn't left yet," the mother of the tailless boy said.

"I won't be leaving for another 2 hours."

"Good. I wanted… to get your last name," she choked.

"Jensen. My name is Kathrine Burgandy Jensen."

There was silence on the other end before I heard. "…Burr…."

"Hi," I said back to the boy.

"Kat… Burr…."

"That's right."

"Kat… Burr…. Kat… Burr…," his voice chanted softly.

"Thank you for stopping and letting Josh know about you," his mother said.

"His energy called to me, that is the only reason I knew."

"Even then, thank you, it's the most animated he's been in eight years."

"Then I'm glad. …Can I get your name?"

"Penny. Penny Katchrill."

"Thank you, Penny."

"Thank you again. Ah, time to board. Bye, Kathrine."

"Bye, Penny. Bye, Josh."

"Kat… Burr…," he said.

Then the phone was hung up.

I set the courtesy phone back on the hook. I sat there for another moment before returning to the window. Approaching Josh was the first time I had approached anyone since I was beat up and abandoned by the neighbor kids—my parents included. The neighbor kids had been out playing 'Tag, you're it!' It looked fun. So, I went outside to see if I could join them. They were a little shy at first, but then one whispered to a few of the others and they agreed to let me play. I was "it" first. I ran after them, but they scattered. A few pulled on my tails, while others would scream negative names as they ran away. After several minutes of trying and being unable to catch anyone, I gave up.

I wiped a tear from my eye. Because of that I had buried myself in writing. Writing about a stranger reaching out to my pathetic character and willingly giving them a kind hand, a kind word, a friend. I still wanted that. I wanted someone to reach out to me, but for now I could appease myself. I had done what I desperately wished for with Josh. I hadn't been rejected by him or Penny. Neither of them had hurt me. It was wonderful to get a taste of what that was really like. I continued to think over our encounter until a plane left the terminal for take-off. Then I left the window to sit by my dad again. I needed to figure out this character.

"Who was on the phone?" Dad asked.

"The woman from before," I replied, noncommittally.

"She said something to make you smile."

"She didn't. Her son did."

"Can I ask?"

"No, you may not."