Boarding at Gate 3
Inspired by the Stephen King story he never knew how to finish. - My interpretation of Stephen King writing prompt
“Boarding for gate 3 in 20 minutes,” a woman’s voice over the intercom announces.
I’ve been standing next to the women’s restroom door for at least 10, though it feels like thirty.
A woman starts walking towards me, and I smile as non-threateningly as I can.
“Hi, miss,” I say gently, “My wife has been in there for a while. Would you mind seeing if she’s alright? Her name’s Annabelle.”
“Oh, uh, sure,” she says with a small shrug.
The door creaks as she pushes it open. I’ve never understood why bathroom doors squeaked as they opened. Was it meant to be a warning for the people inside, or was no one willing to fork over the money for some basic WD-40?
I peek around the corner to see the grey door taunting me. Was something seriously wrong with Annie that the other woman couldn’t tell me?
Another man and his girlfriend, wife, or sister, but definitely not mom, walk toward me. The woman walks into the bathroom while the guy takes the men’s room.
I wait more, and my leg starts to shake with impatience.
The guy comes out and takes the wall of the men’s room to wait. I wouldn’t want to stand by me either.
“Boarding for Gate 3 in 5 minutes.”
The man across from me looks annoyed. “That’s our fricking gate,” he mumbles. “Fuck it,” he says more forcefully, and barges into the women’s room.
I look around anxiously, but surely a man in there will force everyone out, no?
No.
Nothing happens.
“Boarding for Gate 3, please come to Gate 3.”
Something’s not right, I tell myself.
My whole body is vibrating with tension like I’m in a scary movie.
I puff air out of my mouth sharply and with as straight a back as I can muster, airing confidence when I have none, I push into the bathroom.
I stop at the lip between the pristine airport and the caved-in destruction of this bathroom. My cowardice is the only reason I’m not down there with everyone else.
There’s so much debris and darkness that seeing anyone is difficult, but I know at least four are down there. And one is my wife. My Annabelle.
“HELP!” I scream when I find my voice again. “HELP!”
People rush over, concern giving way to disbelief, as they take in the sight beyond the open door.