She stepped off the shuttle bus and inhaled the cold winter morning mist, almost coughing from the frost, the fulfilled look inhabiting her pupils veiled by sunglasses. Yes, it was good to be home. That unmistakable trace of the polluting particulate that bore the stamp of her beloved home town seeped through even in the spanking new airport. Clad in a cool blue trench coat and tan suede boots, she quickly felt in her handbag for the hotel room card. She needed that card if her business trip was going to be a success. It had better be a success after all the paperwork she had had to complete before getting here. Hours with solicitors poring over which pound should go where. Long sleepless nights thinking about the final day when it would come to fruition. As she stood at the conveyer belt, her fingertips glazed over the freckles of rust on the trolley handle. Ah, rust. Suddenly glad no one was coming to receive her, she walked out slowly, taking in every jet lagged executive and every first time air traveller, so obvious by their over labelled baggage. When she was last here, twenty aching years ago, she had bet her entire life on a game of chance. Surprised herself with her confidence when she left her life, her love, her everything to go to a new country in hope of a brighter future. Was quickly corrected when emotional turmoil and professional struggle tested her privileged upbringing's true character. Had she passed? To all her friends, she had aced the class. But she knew. She knew that a girl like her, bound by God's curse-and-boon gift of switching to autopilot till her mind could cope with the harsh realities around her, had been damaged. Irreversibly. Cold analytical dissection which left her longing for emotion, knowing all the while that the floodgates were better left unopened. Not once, the calmness of knowing you sleep by one you unconditionally trust. Not once, the relief of letting go of all conscious thought. She used to love going out. She had gone out. But she had forgotten how to enjoy herself. Care-trodden her brain failed to stop reminding her of self created responsibilities. She used to dream of single life at 45. She used to dream of learning the salsa. She used to dream of a road trip across Europe as a part of the Salvation Army. She used to dream of living hard in a rat infested New York downtown dump. She used to dream of an exotic partner who would careen her into a dangerous world of Parisian cafes, Thai mystique and Gothic literature. She used to dream of a writer's desk on a rainy afternoon in a suburban home. She used to dream. She doesn't anymore. She's free now. From dreams. From reality. Most importantly, she's free from human affections. Emotional immunity perfected, yet ever so empathetic. She's a fantastic actress. She fools herself too sometimes. Into thinking she's got it all despite never being able to convince her husband to have children with her. Into thinking her marriage was strong despite many falls from grace. Into thinking she is happy, despite a Prozac filled medicine cabinet. It's dangerous to be able to fool yourself, especially when you have an IQ of 130. Today she believes she's home. A husband who loves her, parents who can't stop raving about her at senior citizen friendship circles, a career that allows Cosmopolitan to sell fantasies to millions of lost women who will be stuck in jobs they hate all their lives. She's going to go to her 5 star hotel room and shoot herself tonight. Elevator music. Take me home, country roads. Indeed. "Fourth floor. You're room is the third on the right, Madam." "Thank you." She stepped out of the lift.
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