You Are Here, page 2
“WAIT!” I cry, leaping in between the two of them with my hands out.
Agent Hasley freezes. Grandma freezes. All hope of passing this checkpoint without being noticed has vanished. Everyone turns and stares. Behind us, the rashy-faced agent is shouting orders, stopping all passengers from entering the screening area. The entire checkpoint is in chaos.
Pink Lady screeches in fury as another agent stops her from walking through the body scanner and makes her join the other security line. She is pointing at us, yelling, her face turning the same color as her sweater.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, and I don’t care. I turn my back on her and focus on what’s really important.
I look up at Agent Hasley and firmly say, “Sir, my grandmother doesn’t speak English. Please let me explain . . .”
I force myself to speak slowly as I tell him everything about the ashes and about Thai culture so that I don’t leave anything out. I try to look calm for Grandma’s sake, but when I get to the part about worrying that they will confiscate Granddad, I can hear my voice trembling. When I’m finished, the agent lets out a sigh.
“You’re allowed to bring the ashes through security,” he says. “We just ask that you tell us so we can handle them properly. You’re not in trouble, and we’re certainly not going to confiscate them.”
“Really?” I squeak.
“Really.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Honestly? This kind of stuff happens all the time.”
“It does?”
Agent Hasley smiles. “Kid, I’ve got enough stories to write a book.” He nods down at the wooden box. “This cover is made of leaded glass, so we weren’t able to properly scan it. I’ll have to do an additional screening by hand. But don’t worry. Tell your grandmother I’ll be very gentle.”
I explain everything to Grandma in Thai. Again, it takes time to find the right words. She still looks skeptical. “It’s okay,” I say to her. “He’ll be careful.”
Finally, Grandma gives Agent Hasley a nod of agreement. He gently swipes the outside of the box with a plastic wand covered with a cloth tip. When he’s done, he presents the box to Grandma with both hands and dips his head, sort of like a little bow. She nods back.
The agent pats my shoulder as he hands me the bag. “You’re a good kid to protect your grandmother.”
I smile. It’s probably best that he doesn’t know that I was actually protecting him from Grandma’s flying fists of fury.
As the chaos at the checkpoint slowly clears up and the passengers resume filing through, we rejoin Mom and Dad, whose faces are full of worry.
Before Mom can say anything, I reach out and wrap my arms around her. And then, just like I did for Agent Hasley, I explain everything. “Don’t be mad at Grandma, Mom. She just wanted to do the right thing for Granddad. And it is the right thing. You have to be where your heart belongs, you know?”
Mom hugs me tight, then holds her arms out to Grandma. They embrace, and Mom tenderly smooths her hands over the wooden box. Soon they are talking a mile a minute in Thai, crying, apologizing, and offering forgiveness to each other all at once. Dad squeezes both of my shoulders. Translation from his unspoken words: I’m proud of you, son.
We are all still circled up in a big group hug when I see Pink Lady and her kid stomp off toward their gate. “We’ll never make our flight now!” she cries.
I wish I could say that I was the kind of person who took no satisfaction in this. Guess I’m just not one of those people.
Grandma dries her eyes and carefully slides the wooden box back into the coffee container. I place it in the bottom of the bag. I pat the bag and whisper, “Don’t worry, Granddad. We’re taking you home.”
Now it’s time to find our gate. Only three hours and thirty-four minutes left to wait.
Grandma hooks her arm into mine. “I told you. Piece of cake.”
“Hold on,” says Mom, looking around frantically. “Where’s Jessie?”
2
Jae
“What’s this?”
Mr. Peters took one look at Jae, then glared at Mom. He was an average-sized white man with short brown hair and almost no chin. Jae saw that one of his eyes twitched a little, which made his glare almost comical.
It was time for the shift change; people were leaving the employee break room, either to start their work duties or to head home.
“I’m sorry, Richard,” Mom said. “The sitter—”
Jae’s usual babysitter was Gracie, a college student. Earlier that day, Gracie’s grandmother had fallen and broken her hip, and Gracie had had to take her to the hospital. Mom had refused point-blank to discuss Jae’s contention that he was old enough to stay home on his own. She couldn’t afford to call in sick, so the only choice left was for him to go to work with her.
Jae had sulked all the way there on the L train. He was still sulking now.
“There’s no excuse,” Mr. Peters cut her off. “You’re late. And this is not a day care center.”
It took all of Jae’s resolve not to roll his eyes as a match for the instant snark response inside his head. Um, riiiiight. It’s an airport.
Mom lowered her head slightly, but her voice was steady. “You won’t even know he’s here,” she said. “He’s a good boy.”
If I’m a good boy, how come I’m not allowed to stay at home on my own? Jae kept his face blank, but inside his head, he was scowling—because he knew the answer.
“Uses questionable judgment.” “Lacks impulse control.” That was grown-up-speak for the fact that Jae sometimes “made bad choices,” which was why Mom was reluctant to leave him on his own.
It wasn’t like he wanted to misbehave or rebel. But being good was slippery. It didn’t stay still; it moved around, and not only that, sometimes it meant exactly opposite things. Like, there were times when being good meant speaking up, but other times when it meant staying quiet. The only thing Jae was sure of was that “good” was determined by whoever was in charge at the time. For today, Jae knew that good behavior would mean a serious stretch of boredom. Being bored was the worst.
Mr. Peters was talking. “I don’t know how they do things where you come from, but this is a professional establishment. We do not bring children to work with us.”
Scowl redirected at Mr. Peters. Where we come from? That would be the West Side, off Cicero. And don’t you talk to my mom like that. She’s worked here way longer than you—she’s the one who showed you around when you first started. And besides, she’s older than you—can’t you show a little respect?
Of course, he said none of that aloud. This was a “staying quiet” moment.
Mr. Peters moved his glare from Mom to Jae himself, then seemed to hesitate. He reached out with his hand and rubbed Jae’s head awkwardly.
“I’m sure this guy won’t be a problem,” he said, in a friendly voice so fake it made Jae cringe. “You’ll just stay here and—and hold down the fort. Right, Jake?”
“It’s Jae.” Jae and Mom spoke in unison.
The false smile dropped from Mr. Peters’s face. He shrugged, clearly not interested in getting Jae’s name right. “I should have you take him home and dock your pay,” he said. “I’m making an exception just this once. See that it doesn’t happen again.” He banged the door as he left.
“Jerk,” said Angie, one of Mom’s work partners. She stood in the doorway of the cloakroom at the back and rolled her eyes. She must have overheard the whole conversation.
Now she gathered her purple-streaked hair into a ponytail. “C’mon, Myung, let’s get started.” She put a hand on Mom’s shoulder. The two women moved toward the door together, Mom a head shorter than Angie.
Then Mom turned and hurried back toward Jae.
“I know you don’t want to be here,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t work out anything else. But please just stay here and wait for me. I might be able to come back for a few minutes on my break.” She looked at him pleadingly, then gave his arm a quick squeeze before leaving with Angie.
Jae glanced around the room. It was a fairly large space, with worn vinyl couches around the periphery, square tables and plastic chairs, a counter along one wall with a sink flanked by two refrigerators, a row of vending machines. To the right of the counter was the door to the cloakroom, where there were two restrooms and a couple rows of lockers.
In the main room, there were four television screens. Two were tuned to a news channel; the other two showed closed-circuit footage from cameras throughout the airport.
Jae knew the airport inside and out. Mom had worked here since he was a toddler, and for years he had come along with Dad to pick her up at the end of her shifts. They came early whenever they could so Jae could play. If the airport wasn’t busy, he was allowed to run in the big open spaces. As a little kid, he had especially loved the escalators, going up and down over and over. He had a clear memory of Mom showing him how to step on and off all by himself.
Jae crossed the room to sit on the couch that was closest to the closed-circuit TV monitors. The images on the screens changed every fifteen seconds, cycling through different parts of the airport. On the rare occasions Jae was in the break room, he always tested himself: How quickly could he identify the exact location of the shots on the screens?
Front lobby, Delta desk.
Terminal 1, Concourse B food court, Dragon Lotus counter.
Baggage claim, United carousel, Terminal 2.
After a while, he got out his tablet and played the latest Zelda game. Then he watched a whole bunch of animal videos—some funny, some amazing. He got up to stretch his legs and use the restroom.
Still not even halfway through Mom’s shift. Was there anything more boring than waiting?
As he swiped idly at his tablet, he happened to glance at the monitors. The left-hand screen—TSA checkpoint, Terminal 1—something was going on there.
Jae sat up and looked more closely. A few uniformed officers were gathering around the screening area. Their attention seemed to be directed toward the end of the conveyor belt, where several people were clustered. Jae could see a couple, an older woman, and two kids. One was a boy about his own age, the other a little girl maybe three or four years old. They all had dark hair. Asian, Jae decided.
The image disappeared. He didn’t have to wait long for it to show up again. Within seconds, it became clear that something was wrong. The screens showed crowds of people moving around. Jae pieced together what was happening: one of the two lines at the TSA checkpoint had been closed down, and everyone from that line was being shunted into the other queue.
What was going on?
Jae kept watching. Again he saw the Asian family—but this time, the little girl wasn’t with the others. She had wandered a few steps away, toward the benches where people could sit while they put their shoes back on. The girl hippity-hopped past the benches. Jae could see tiny flashes of light at her feet; he realized that she was wearing those light-up sneakers.
The images changed. A few moments later, Jae saw the girl’s back as she toddled away. He frowned in concentration at the monitor. The girl’s family, distracted by whatever was happening with the TSA agents, hadn’t noticed her disappearance. She was out of sight now, headed into the big central hall from which the gate concourses branched off.
Jae’s heart boomed in his chest. A powerful memory assailed him: getting separated from his mom in a big-box store when he was about five years old. He had been wandering the aisles, singing tunelessly, when he looked up and realized that his mother was no longer in sight. He would never forget the panic that had surged through him: it had felt like the end of the world.
For a long time after that, Jae insisted on riding in the shopping cart so he wouldn’t get separated from his parents again. He had been too big for the seat; he’d had to ride in the cart itself. Years later, talking to his mom about the incident, he had been astounded to learn that he had been lost for no more than a couple of minutes.
Anytime now, that little girl would look around and see that her family had vanished. She would feel that same terrible stomach-turning, heart-squeezing panic. . . . And he was the only one who knew where she was.
Jae didn’t pause to think any further. He leapt from his seat and ran to the door.
The break room was about a third of the way down Concourse B, tucked away behind a nondescript door that said Employees Only. Jae yanked open the door. Through the big windows on the opposite wall, he saw that it was raining. Pouring, actually. He hadn’t noticed before, because the break room had no windows. As if to add to the drama, there was a blaze of lightning, followed almost immediately by an enormous thunderclap.
Jae tore through the concourse, staying next to the wall, where there were fewer pedestrians. The closer he got to the central hall, the more crowded it became. Jae dodged and deked his way through the clusters and knots of people. For the briefest of moments, one part of his mind realized that he was enjoying himself—it was fun trying to get past everyone without tripping or bumping into them. Almost like a video game come to life.
When he reached the entrance to the hall, Jae stopped so suddenly that he almost tripped. Stunned, he stared at the sea of people in front of him.
He had never seen it this crowded! People were packed together so tightly he could barely see the floor. He glanced up at the flight information screens that hung from the ceiling.
DELAYED
CANCELED
DELAYED
CANCELED
CANCELED
CANCELED
Jae saw through the big ceiling skylights that the storm had worsened; obviously flights were being affected by the weather. People were upset, bewildered, angry. Every single person over the age of about twelve was talking on a cell phone. The vast space in the hall was filled with the sound of voices. Miserable voices.
“My flight was just canceled!”
“Is it the weather?”
“—storms are terrible, AND the security line just closed down—”
“—no other flights today?!”
Jae took a deep breath. To get across the big hall toward where he had seen the girl on the monitor, he would have to go through that crowd. For the first time since he had jumped up from the couch, Jae realized what he had done: he’d left the break room against explicit orders from both Mom and Mr. Peters. If he ran into either of them, there would be no way to hide his disobedience. Worse yet, he might get Mom in trouble.
Should he turn around and go back? But what about the little girl?
Jae squared his shoulders and began making his way through the crowd.
There was no running now; he jostled past people a step at a time. He also had to keep shifting his sight line—down low, to try to spot the girl or her flashing sneakers; higher, to make sure he didn’t run into people.
“Excuse me. Excuse me. Sorry,” he repeated over and over. “Sorry—I need to get by—excuse me—”
“HEY! HEY, YOU!”
A shrill voice rose above the cacophony. Jae recoiled before he even knew who had spoken; he knew instinctively that the voice was yelling at him.
A woman emerged from behind the nearest clump of people. It was someone he didn’t know, a short and stocky woman with reddish hair and very pale skin.
Then Jae saw that she was holding a child by the hand, half dragging her.
Light-up sneakers, check. Also, chubby cheeks and high pigtails. It was definitely the little girl he was looking for.
“Is this your sister?” the woman snapped. “Are you supposed to be taking care of her? She was all by herself—you need to keep an eye on her!”
Sister? Jae frowned, but in the next breath, realization hit him. She thinks it’s my sister . . . because we’re both Asian.
“She’s not—” Jae started to speak, but the woman steamrolled right over him.
“You’re big enough to know better,” she scolded. “She could have gotten lost—what were you thinking?”
The little girl had been quiet, but the woman’s anger was apparently upsetting her, and she started to cry.
“You take her right back to your parents,” the woman ordered.
In the time it took the woman to finish that sentence, the girl’s cries went from zero to sixty. She was screaming now, pulling her hand away from the woman’s grip.
It was one of those confusing moments. Ignoring a grown-up was disrespectful, and that wasn’t good, but Jae had tried to tell her the truth, and she hadn’t listened. Did that make it okay to ignore her now?
Probably not. He had left the break room despite Mom’s plea and was now about to ignore an adult. At least I’m being consistent with the bad choices, he thought. Funny not funny.
He turned away from the woman, went down on one knee, and held his hand out toward the girl.
“Hi there,” he said softly. “I’m Jae. What’s your name?”
Jae was an only child, but he had two little cousins whom he often looked after during family gatherings. He had used this tactic with them, just as Mom had with him when he was little. Whenever he had cried hard, she had lowered her voice to a whisper. He had had to stop crying, or at least lower the volume, to hear what she was saying.
The girl eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but sure enough, she stopped crying. “J-Jessie,” she said, her voice catching on sobs.
Jae kept his voice down. “Hey, Jessie. How about we go find your mama?”
“Mama? Paul?” She toddled closer to Jae and let him pick her up.
Jae was about to correct her—I’m Jae, not Paul—when he realized that she was asking about the other kid, most likely her brother.
A man pushed his way through the crowd to stand next to the woman. “Sandy, what’s going on?” he asked. “We have to get these flights straightened out!”
