Free London from My Windows by Mary Carter

down. “Now you have both seats to yourself. The sleeping pills will kick in soon. If you make a scene they’ll throw you off the plane. And your mother will win. She’ll win.”
    Damn therapist. She knew just what buttons to push. Before Ava knew what was happening, Diana was gone, and she was alone. She had enough adrenaline coursing through her to keep her awake, but enough sleeping pills in her to make it all seem like a groggy dream.
    Shortly after takeoff, Ava slept. She woke throughout the flight, but didn’t want to see what was going on around her, didn’t do much but make it to the loo, and that was only because the thought of pissing in her seat was way worse.
    First class was wasted on her, that was for sure. She couldn’t pay attention to television or movies, and when she tried to eat or drink she realized she had no sense of taste. All her senses were numb. Everything was just one loud hum. She kept her eye mask on, and her earplugs in. This, too, shall pass . And it did. Slowly, and torturously, but it did. Her legs were stiff. She couldn’t wait to be off the plane. She also dreaded being off the plane. A rock and a hard place. That pretty much summed up her life. The plane began to descend; the pilot announced their arrival and welcomed them to London. Ava remained in her seat until every single other passenger had left the plane and the flight attendants were staring at her en masse. She wanted to ask for assistance, for a wheelchair.
    She popped a Xanax and put herself on autopilot before she had to be dragged off the plane. She followed the throngs of people to the immigration line. She showed her British passport, for the first time. She made it. But now, she was in the middle of London Heathrow Airport, completely on her own, and wide awake.
    Terminal 4. She felt terminal all right. Huge. People. Fuck. Purple signs hanging up high were telling her where to go. She wanted to tell them where to go. The infinite terminal was a minefield. She was just going to have to take step after step after step until she was blown to smithereens.
    Who did she think she was? Loser, loser, loser. Handicapped. It was big; it was so big. She tried to remain calm, keep her heart rate down, but the space was absolutely massive. She had to get out of here; this was too wide, too open. This was not in her head. This was her brain perceiving a threat, then commanding her body to freak out. Lights, people, action. Was this Heathrow or Hollywood? She closed her eyes, but it didn’t work. Sick, she was going to be sick. The line to the loo was stretched out the door and into the hall. Oh, God. Ava couldn’t hide in the bathroom with that line.
    There it was, next to the loo, a janitor’s closet. It was open; a cleaning person must have just popped in to get a broom, or glass cleaner, or rat poison. Ava rushed over and squeezed into the small, dark space where she felt safe. Just imagine if she fell in love with someone who was claustrophobic. It would be a Greek tragedy. She wanted to sit, but she was jammed in next to mops, and brooms, and buckets. She would just stand. And breathe. She heard footsteps approaching. The cleaning lady was going to find her in here, she would startle her, the woman would have a heart attack, and Ava would finally get to use CPR.
    Or she would startle her and the woman would jam a feather duster down Ava’s throat, and she would die in a little closet in London Heathrow. Just as Ava was concocting a third scenario, the actual cleaning lady pulled the cart right up to the open door. She was texting. Texting! Or she could have been Tweeting. Facebooking. What was she saying? Something about the unspeakable filth of the flying public no doubt.
    Ava looked at the cart. On top there was a pile of black garbage bags. Maybe Ava could put one over her head and just keep walking until she bumped into Baggage Claim. She waited until the lady stopped texting.