1WENDY
There'sa moment in life that strikes hard, maybe once, sometimes twice. Like a sledgehammer to the head, it jolts your brain into overdrive, and suddenly, you're questioning everything.
Where am I?
How did I end up here?
Has it all been a colossal waste?
I figure it's different for everyone. This existential crisis makes you doubt whether the road you’ve chosen leads to where you truly want to go. It's not something penciled in on a calendar; it ambushes you when you're least ready to tackle it, both physically and mentally.
For me, it happens on a Thursday morning in June as I step off the Lufthansa plane and find no one waiting at the arrival gate in the Munich Airport.
So I stand in the crowded terminal, lost and feeling like a complete fish out of water, panicking a little while the rest of the passengers are dispersing in various directions. A flash of orange hair catches my eye in a reflection on the glass wall—oh, right, that's me. I’m still getting used to this new color. The first timeJett saw me with it, he said I looked like a carrot. I remember wondering—since it was coming from my boyfriend—if he meant it as a compliment or disapproval. You can never quite tell with Jett Vice.
"Scheiße!" A severe-looking woman in a black pantsuit glares at me as my overstuffed gym bag topples into her path when I turn around.
I flash an apologetic grin. "Sorry!Ich spreche kein Deutsch!"I don't speak German!It’s one of the few German phrases I memorized before this trip. You know, in case of emergency.
Also, I was told a lot of people here understand and speak English.
The woman huffs and continues walking.
I step away from the foot traffic and dig my cell phone out of my jacket’s pocket. I stab at the buttons as rising frustration is starting to replace fear. Jett was supposed to meet me. He knows I’m terrified of traveling alone to unfamiliar places, especially those where English isn’t the first language.
The line rings once, twice. "C'mon, Jett, pick up..." I mutter under my breath, then bite my lip.
Finally, he answers with a slur in his voice, which doesn’t surprise me at all. "Hello?"
"Jett? I’m here. I just landed," I shout over the racket of the terminal.
"Wendy! Babe!" Jett yells. "You made it!"
In the background, I hear music and voices—mostly women squealing and lots of English.
"Jett, where the hell are you?" I demand, trying to keep my voice steady as I'm jostled by a passing cluster of people dressed in identical hoodies. "You said you'd meet me at the airport!"
"Ahh fuck, sorry, babe," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Got caught up with some press shit. You know how it goes."
I close my eyes, mentally counting to five while my blood pressure skyrockets. "No, Jett, I don't know how it goes, seeing as I just flew across a damn ocean for you. You said you’d be free on Thursday."
"What do you want me to do? I’m fucking working."
"Can’t you take a break and pick me up like you promised?"
"Chillax, honey," Jett says with an infuriating chuckle. "I'll call you back soon, alright? Gotta handle something."
"Jett, wait—" But he's already hung up.
I glare at my phone, resisting the urge to hurl it across the terminal. I’m already terrified of the bill I’ll be getting for this call. Roaming is expensive. This is disappointing, but certainly not surprising. Jett’s done it before. He has a tendency to over-promise stuff.
Then why are you still with him?
I shove that little voice down. I can’t let it ruin my life's master plan.
With a heavy sigh, I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder and storm off toward the baggage claim.
The area is a whirling sea of bodies all jockeying for position, shouting over each other in a dozen different languages. The scent of sweat and overpriced fast food chokes the air around me.
