CHAPTER5
MADISON
I’d never been to Montana and had NO interest in ever going there, but I guess that’s where Daisy had lived her whole life. She owned a ranch or land or something like that. Daisy was the woman my dad was going to marry.
My father had come to town once, a few years ago, and brought Daisy with him to meet Zoey and me. We were civil, but that was about it. When I called my mom about him visiting at the time, she said we should give him a chance, but nope, we wouldn’t have it.
Daisy was like a mix between a sugary sweet Dolly Parton and Paula Dean. She was average height, had racy red hair, lots of makeup, tight clothes, big boobs, and a super bubbly personality. I struggled not to like her as she chatted at dinner because she seemed like a fun, smart-mouthed woman. The kind I would normally get a kick out of, but I put up my walls and managed to hold a grudge against her.
A stranger might think that soundedreallybad, but there was a lot of history there. My youngest memories of my father were of him being like a celebrity. Everybody he met loved him. He was funny, smart, and had a good time wherever he went.
I remember he and my mom used to laugh a lot and just seemed to enjoy being together when I was young. He’d always be sneaking up behind her and grabbing her. She’d scream with laughter every time. But by the time I was seven, their relationship had died a long, painful death, and he was off to Montana.
I had friends back then who bitched because their parents had divorced. I rememberwishingmy parents had only divorced and that I could at least see my dad on weekends, but that was not to be. It felt like he’d died.
When Zoey and I were teenagers, he spoke to us about coming to see him over the summers, but we shut it down. Should we have given him a chance? Probably, but we were teens holding a grudge because it seemed like things had taken some sort of turn for him that would never include us. The bottom line was he picked his new life over his daughters. Right, wrong, or otherwise, that was how Zoey and I felt.
But now I was on my way to see him. I had to give it my best shot and push those old feelings out of my head because as much as I hated myself for it, I was still mad. I knew it was time to get rid of the anger. Come hell or high water, I was going to chuck it in the fuck it bucket.
Upon making my journey through the entire plane to row twenty-one, I lifted my poop suitcase to put in the overhead luggage compartment when it suddenly opened, and my disgusting clothes showered upon the passengers below me.
I bent down, collecting the horrific clothing and was mortified when a man across the aisle started handing me some items. Both of our faces caught on fire when he passed me a pair of green granny panties, which I quickly shoved into the pocket of my overalls, vowing never to make eye contact with him again.
Once seated between I-Had-Tuna-For-Breakfast-Breath and My-Thigh-Will-Be-Stuck-To-Yours-For-Hours, I stretched my neck from row twenty-one, deflated at not being able to even get a glimpse of the first class section. The place where they offered me pillows, champagne, and delightful treats. Now it was just a fading memory. I coughed to cover the rumbling of my tummy that was letting everyone know I hadn’t eaten a bite since the night before. Shit.
Once in the air, the steward was standing next to our row with his little cart of beverages and snacks, spreading gratitude down to my toes. I was starving.
“Can I get you a soda, coffee, or anything?”
“Yes, please. I’ll take a coffee with cream, some Twizzlers, and one of the cheese and cracker meals.”
After a moment, he passed me my items. “That will be fourteen dollars, please.”
“What? What is happening right now?” Was FU airlines an emotion? Because I was feeling it all the way to my soul. “Aren’t these included in the ticket price?”
“Included is a soft drink or coffee. The snack items are optional, and we accept debit or credit cards.”
“Are you serious? I paid a hefty amount for this airline ticket, and you’re telling me I don’t even get a sad little bag of pretzels?”
“I’m sorry, Miss. Snacks do cost money.”
“Are you new here? Everybody knows you get a snack on a flight.” I looked at Tuna Breath on my left. “We get a snack, right?” He shrugged. I decided he was a dumbass because my tummy was growling, and I’m not logical when I’m hangry.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but I have many customers to assist. Do you want the snacks or not? It’s fourteen dollars if you do.”
For once in my life, I didn’t have an extra fourteen dollars to spare. As much as I wanted to hop up and beat him with Tuna Breath’s briefcase, I shook my head, and he snatched the snacks away, handing me a sad little cup of coffee. Shitty coffee, by the way.
Once the steward was out of sight, Tuna Breath opened his briefcase and offered me a bag of Goldfish crackers. I almost hugged him for bringing about the joy pumping through every vein of my body. Even in the deepest depths of coach, human kindness was alive and well.
I borrowed a pen and paper from Tuna Breath and spent the next hour creating a scholarship program while the psychic's words hummed through my ears. This wouldn't be for the straight "A" student, it would be for the "C" student with economic challenges. It would be a scholarship to cover tuition as well as housing, and I could bring attention to traditional colleges, community colleges, and trade schools. Why one scholarship? Why not work with the the Magnolia Hotels and vendors I normally work with to find a way to have many scholarships and help change lives? I could do more. I needed to do more.
A short time later, I finally had to break down and go to the tiny bathroom at the rear of the plane. I washed my hands and was about to open the door when there was a sudden jolt of turbulence.
I grabbed a paper towel as the pilot announced over the loudspeaker for all passengers to buckle up. I slid the little lock, pushing on the door, but nothing happened. I repeated my actions, but the door still didn’t open. The plane suddenly dipped, and I was slammed against the wall.
I knocked on the door. “Hello?” I heard footsteps and shouted louder, trying to get the person’s attention. “Hello?”
I heard a male voice singing on the other side of the door. “Hello, from the other side…. I must’ve called a thousand times.”