The Half You Don't Know by Peter Cameron

The Half You Don't Know by Peter Cameron

Author:Peter Cameron [Cameron, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-5036-5
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2012-01-15T00:00:00+00:00


The Meeting and Greeting Area

THE NEW “EDUCATION” Government, in its quest for literacy, has labeled everything. The buses proclaim BUS, the benches BENCH. I was awaiting the arrival of my ex-boyfriend, Tom, in THE MEETING AND GREETING AREA of the AIRPORT.

I hadn’t seen Tom in six months, since I was posted here. Before that we had lived together in Washington, D.C. We broke up shortly before I moved. We fell slowly out of love, paratroopers, floating back down to earth, landing with a quiet thud: friends. So when Tom called and asked me if I would like a visitor, if I would travel with him as we had once planned, I said yes.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his familiar voice echoing itself.

“Of course,” I said. “It will be fun. You’re my favorite person to travel with. We can go up north to the mountains, where it will be cool.”

“Wherever,” said Tom. “It’s up to you. I just want to get out of D.C.. And I’d like to see you. How are you doing?”

I debated telling him about Albert, but I didn’t, because Albert was something I hadn’t yet figured out. “I’m fine,” I said, and I heard my echo say I’m fine, as if I had repeated myself for emphasis.

THE MEETING AND GREETING AREA was empty. Dust blew in from the runway and was roiled by the overhead fans, each of which revolved at its own particular speed. Tom’s plane was intimated rather than announced. A murmuring excitement spread through the building: Vendors woke from their drowse and dusted their ancient merchandise; the baggage wheel shuddered and began to rotate; the lights above the ticket counter flickered on. And then the plane itself appeared in a huge sky pulsing with heat.

For such a big thing it disgorged few passengers. They appeared at the top of the metal steps hastily appended to its side, one by one, like bewildered contestants, blinking at the bright sun, stunned by the heat. Tom, as polite as he is patient, was the last to emerge. I watched him glance out and around, looking for me, and I enjoyed that moment of seeing him before he saw me. It made me feel in control. I didn’t move or call out—I stood still and let Tom find me.

“It’s great,” Tom said. “And wow, you even have a terrace.”

“Everyone has a terrace here,” I said. “Most people live on them. Only foreigners have air conditioning.”

“Is it always this hot?”

“You get used to it,” I said.

He was standing by the French doors, looking down into the garden. A woman was washing clothes in the fountain. He looked at me. “I’m excited,” he said. “I’m happy to be here.” He came over and touched me. We had embraced once, briefly, outside the airport. Tom had smelled of toothpaste and cologne; I could picture him performing a hurried ablution in the tiny bathroom of the plane as it bumped in over the mountains.

“Are you exhausted?” I asked. “Or hungry? I thought we could go get some lunch.



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