“Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit.” Alana rapid-fire mutters through gritted teeth. She doesn’t realize that she has begun to speak out loud until the tenth utterance of shit.

The crowd around her, equally wrapped in their own busy lives (why else would they be at an airport?) makes no effort to move for her. Why should they? They don’t know she’s about to miss the love of her life forever.

The woman with the red headband and the soft lips and the adventurous nature and— well you get it. She loved everything but her name and that’s only because she didn’t get her name.

She shoved and hustled with just enough urgency to not summon up security (she hoped) and made for gate three, now departing in— shit!! Two minutes!

She grunted and shoved ahead, sending a luggage cart off balance and teetering.

“Sorry!” She screamed back.

If she could even just get her name as something tangible, something more real than a fling, she would be alright.

But she wasn’t. The gate, upon her arrival, was closed. The attendee looked at her with suspicion.

Alana exhaled into her shaking hands, remembered Her hands. Then she began to cry.