Chapter 2 – John Mark

John watched in awe as they pulled into the airport parking garage. He was always amazed when he saw a building more than a couple stories high. He couldn’t begin to imagine the time, effort, and lack of playing with oneself a structure like this took to build. It was a car palace. John pictured the Car Prince himself giving the order to let them in as the arm on the barrier gate lifted. He pretended to wave to the imaginary Chrysler Court of Prince Pontiac as they ascended each level. 

His vision blurred. He stopped waving and wiped a hand across his eyes. They were constantly watering. He had forgotten by this point if it was the result of a medical condition, or if he was always crying.

His father parked. It was a little too far away for John’s liking, but he knew better than to say anything. He helped his family by standing clear of the car and not getting his Cheeto-dusted fingers all over their fine luggage. Janet ran through a final checklist to make sure all was in order, and they began walking to the terminal.

It was busy. Very busy. And they were running late. David had fallen asleep during one of his Top Chef viewings and it had taken nearly 45 minutes to wake him. They were further delayed by his refusal to leave his “date” early, joking that if he did, “Sheila would never shut up about it”.  He raised and shook his right hand as he said “Sheila”. This made their father laugh.

The airport was crowded and Mike was clearly frustrated. “Come on!” he shouted, grabbing John by the arm. “Come with me. And don’t stop to talk to anyone along the way!” He followed his father past the endless, curving line of people, fighting urge after urge to ask every other person what day it was, where they were going, and if given three guesses could they find the rabbit’s foot hidden on his body (left leg pit). They finally reached the ticket counter.

“Excuse me,” his father said to the airline employee. “We need to check-in now so my boy here can have some extra time to get through security and eat a little something before we board.” He attempted a smile. The employee apologized, “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to wait in line like everyone else.”

The words “everyone else” echoed and lingered in the air. John peed a little.

Mike took in a deep breath. He seemed to suck the life force out of those around him, and grow stronger from it. He closed his eyes and waited for what felt like an eternity. What followed was a noise John could only describe as a cross between a snort and a hiss. It was a noise John heard many times throughout his childhood. It had inspired “Bullcat”, a fictional monster from his own personal lore. It usually awaited unsuspecting maidens at the center of mazes or the end of a Golden Corral buffet.

John tried not to stare at the poor, distressed ticket agent. His father had been expecting her response, and was ready for it (perhaps hoping for it). “I don’t think you underSTAND,” Mike began to explain, a crescendo forming over every sentence, the final word a climax of anger and authority. “My boy here needs more TIME! We are checking in NOW you dense and degenerate BITCH. Now start typing with your tax-payer funded manicure and get me my goddamn mothershitting TICKETS!” He smacked both hands on the counter and let out one final growl.

Gasps escaped from several bystanders. Mike kicked the counter three times. His face had turned scarlet, a purple vein throbbing down his temple. John had always imagined this vein as a tiny crimson river connecting his father’s brain to his butt. He spent many days praying Rick Moranis would shrink him to cellular size so he could go on a boat ride down it’s cold, still waters, destroying every landmark inside his father’s meaty body. He fantasized about it so often that he wrote a short novel detailing his journey. His mother was overjoyed when she heard about his work, but promptly burned all the pages after reading only the first three. “Don’t ever mention this again,” she had pleaded.

He returned his attention to the scene in front of him.

“What…what is his disability?” the ticket agent asked, clearly flustered, on the verge of tears. She gave John a look filled with fear and sympathy. “Well, he’s not able to do much, really. We have to keep a lot of the doors closed in our house…he’ll relieve himself almost anywhere. Can’t let him on the furniture. He…” Mike turned to him, “Wipe your fucking eyes!” he ordered. “You’re creepin’ people out!” John obeyed. He pulled a handkerchief from his left armpit and dried his face. Before he could return it, his father snatched it away. “Here, let me hold on to that for you. In my pants POCKET. We have money, son! You don’t have to use your body as storage! Leave that to the poors!”

Mike collected the family’s tickets and quickly moved the group through security in the same manner as check-in, this time David playing victim. John absentmindedly passed through the checkpoint. His mother did everything for him. She took off his velcro shoes, placed his luggage on the conveyor belt, and even held his arms above his head while inside the full body scanner.

After everyone made it through the Freedom Violation Station, they learned from a nearby screen that their flight had been delayed. The family immediately began to scatter.

Janet ran after John when she noticed him trying to buy a couple hundred dollars worth of souvenirs from the first airport shop he came upon. “Now, now, John. You should save your spending money for the trip! We live here, remember!” Shopping was stressful for John. He would rather use all of his money here and not have to worry about spending it later. It was a burden to him.

He shot his mother a knowing look. “Maybe I should tell father about what happened earlier. About what you were doing at… the house.” He narrowed his eyes. His mother looked frightened. “Oh son, there’s no need for that. If…if you want all of these Florida magnets, go ahead! It’s your money!” He paid the cashier.

John walked to their gate, his cleavage filled with magnets. When he arrived, he noticed a Red Lobster directly across from it. He closed his eyes, imagining himself bathing in the sun on the shores of Cheddar Bay. Migrant laborers scurried around, bringing him recently harvested cheddar and picking up his droppings. He did body shots of mashed potatoes out of his own belly button. David pissed in the ocean as his mother and sister let loose by drinking regular Coke instead of diet. This very daydream played through his head often. For whatever reason, his father had always died in a car accident on the way to the Bay vacation, but they went on without him. He opened his wet eyes and noticed his erection pointing straight at the restaurant. A compass leading him home.

He took a step in its direction when his father shouted at him from the gate. “We’re boarding right goddamn now, JOHN! Hurry up or I’ll give your first class seat to a troop and you’ll ride coach! I’ll do it! Look! There are like four friggin’ troops back there!”

John wiped his eyes, lowered his head, and boarded the plane.