Foreign Flight
Ahmed glanced up as yet another person opened the overhead compartment. He told himself to not worry, that they weren’t going through his bag. Even several hours into the flight, his eyes still couldn’t help but dart glances at the middle-aged woman rummaging in the compartment. Only by tapping on his knee was he able to keep himself from jumping up and pushing her away. He hated being separated from his bag. The eternity spent waiting for it to come out of the security machine had been bad enough, but leaving it where anyone could go through it was more than he could bear! His finger tapped faster and faster with each passing moment.
At first he’d tried to force it under the seat in front of him. When that was not going to work, he’d tried to just hold it in his lap. “All luggage must be stowed,” a flight attendant had said, but Ahmed didn’t understand. After hand motions also failed, the flight attendant had wrestled the bag from him and forced it into the overhead compartment. All these people paid to be here . . . none care what’s in my bag, he reminded himself again. The lessons he’d learned in the camp over the last year and seven months had taught him otherwise, though. He clenched his jaw until it throbbed at the thought of losing any more.
