Page 8 of Quiet as Kept

I asked Yahirah to send me pictures of his girls, and just like I suspected, they were beautiful baby dolls. I felt certain I would take to them. I was smitten from just the picture. I hoped they took to me, because I already really wanted the job. When Kept’s administrative assistant called to talk to me about interviewing, she made the job sound like a dream.

The pay alone was almost triple what I made atThe Brainy Bunny. I would live in Kept’s house—rent free. I wouldn’t even be responsible for paying my own cell phone bill. A cell phone came with the job. On top of that, the job came with insurance that was almost fully covered by Kept. My food would be covered by Kept, I would have weekends off, and earn PTO.

I wanted the job so badly that the raw need pulsed through my bones. It came with perks I had never even allowed myself to fantasize about, and the main one was getting a chance to get out of Londynville and truly live. With the money Kept was paying . . . vacations, a new car, school—all of the things that had been out of reach for so long would actually be a possibility. I tried not to hyperventilate then laughed at myself. I was doing too much. What I needed to do was go to sleep. I needed rest so I could present the best version of myself to Kept.

I was up extra early the next morning. I showered and dressed well before the time I needed to be. Since Kept paid for my plane ticket, I was going to splurge and leave my truck in the airport parking lot. It was the best option for me because anxiety was riding me something crazy. I wasn’t in any shape to deal with a rideshare standing me up or making me late. I wanted to be on my own time.

Everything I read on the internet suggested that I get to the airport two hours before my flight. I was more like three hours early. I wasn’t mad about it, because the airport was overwhelming. It was like a busy city. Though it wasn’t even seven in the morning, the place was packed with people talking loud and rushing every which way.

I got turned around so many times that I couldn’t even count. For some reason, I got off the parking lot shuttle by Delta when my flight was on Eastern Airlines, which was all the way on the other end of the airport. Luckily, a security guard got me to the ticketing counter, and the nice lady at the counter gave me tips on how to get to my boarding gate.

That was a waste of her time, and I probably should have told her that I was terrible with following directions. If somebody told me that I needed to go right, there was a 98 percent chance that I was going to go left. After walking what had to be the length of two football fields, I realized that I was on concourse C. I was supposed to be on concourse B. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. I dipped into the nearest restroom, used the facilities, and made up my mind to stop acting like I was in a foreign country and couldn’t read the language.

Many steps later, after I’d almost closed two of the rings on my watch, I found my gate. I sat down in a vacant seat and silently cheered for myself. I found my gate.

I was at the airport for the first time in my thirty-two years of life. I managed to park my car, get my boarding pass, and find my gate. I could hear Beyonce singing in my ear.

Shining. Shining. Shining. Shining.

Yeah.

All of this winning.

I knew there were people who traveled all the time and people who’d been traveling since they were born. They wouldn’t be impressed with my accomplishment. But for someone with my background and belief system, someone who thought they would never ride on a plane or never get out of their hometown . . . I was kicking ass. All that was left for me to do was kick ass in my interview.

The three-hour flight was uneventful. I planned to use the flight time to catch a nap, but like a kid on Christmas Eve, I was too excited to sleep. I people watched, stared out the window, and watched the flight attendants do their jobs. When the plane landed, the touchdown was kind of rough, but even that did little to lessen my excitement. I walked off the plane, dragging Nisha’s suitcase behind me with a definite bop in my steps. I was no longer in Londynville, Kentucky. I was in South Carolina.

While I was on the plane, Kept’s administrative assistant sent me a text telling me where she would meet me and the kind of vehicle to look out for. I felt a bit more confident in the airport the second time around. I was able to follow the signs and find my way outside.

While I was waiting for the white pick-up truck that was supposed to be coming for me to pull up, I noticed a black SUV stop. The door opened, and a screaming Yahirah emerged from the driver’s side.

“Xari! Xari!” She ran around the front of the truck and threw her arms around my neck. “Xari!”

“Yahirah?” I hugged her back. “What are you doing here?”

“I came for emotional support. Throw your suitcase in the back. Let’s go.”

I did as she told me, tossing my suitcase in the back seat, then I hopped in on the passenger’s side.

“I can’t believe you’re really here,” I told her as she maneuvered her way through the airport traffic. “I can’t believe I’m here. Am I really here? Did I really leave Londynville? Did I really get on a plane and fly to a whole nother state?”

“You did, chica!” Yahirah did a little celebratory dance for me, which consisted of mostly a shoulder shimmy and a small hip wiggle.

“I was so scared. I kept getting turned around in the airport.”

“But you made it. You’re in South Carolina, boo!”

Yahirah already had her window cracked. I pressed the button and let mine down.

“Even the air here hits different.” I mused. “It’s . . . moist.”

“Well, we are on the coast. South Carolina does butt up against the Ocean.”

“It feels like?—”

“Freedom?” she joked with a chuckle.

I glanced over at her. “New beginnings. If I get this job, Hi.”