The waft of heavy cologne from the man in front of me makes my eyes water. The coughing of the woman behind me makes me wince. Oh, the beauty of standing in queue. In line. My mom would laugh at this moment. She’d know what I was thinking. But when I turn back, she somehow managed to sprint far, far away. I can’t see her in the hallway. That’s not possible unless she actually sprinted, which is possible.

She is afterall, a strange bird.

Shuffle, shuffle, hold my carry-on high to get through the narrow aisle and into my seat directly in front of the lavatory. Bathroom. Absolutely certain I am, that my mom chose this specific seat. She’d probably say something like, how wonderful is it to take in the smells of people you’ll never see again?

Sure, I sound suspicious but she’s said those exact words before about using a derelict one-stall bathroom at the county fair.

The goal here is to sleep to California. I think it’s possible since I stayed up all night. Mostly texted my friend, Priya. We’ve been best friends since I can remember. She’s so happy, sunshine and butterflies, and all that wonderfully positive stuff. Our texts were about my gap year which she desperately wishes her parents would let her do. Then I broke up with my boyfriend, Adam. Not that it was a problem, it’s something I wanted to do for a long time but have been so scared to do for some reason. My mom said maybe it’s because I’m afraid of who I’ll be without him. Maybe she was right because it was easy to end it. Sometimes, when I think about if I did the right thing or not, I swear to you, I can feel my charm warming whatever pocket it’s in. If it’s in my purse or my bag, like it is right now, I swear to you, I feel so called to reach for it. It’s a comfort thing, my mom said.

Wow, I’m thinking about her a lot and I’m thinking a lot about the little pouch I snuck in my bra. My mom is anti-drug so I know it’s not that but what could she possibly wait until the very last moment to give me and tell me to hide it until I get to the g-rents house? This little charm, as I like to call it, used to be so simple. But my dad added to it over the years. He said it grows with me. I’m not sure when he found the time to sneak it from my room before I woke but he did it. My thumb follows along every tiny detail. The bear form was first. Then he carved a man’s face hooded by the bears. He said the bear is alive though. I never cleared it up – was my dad against hunting or for it? It is made out of something he killed but also, maybe he couldn’t figure out how to make the bear’s face look like a dead carpet kind of one.

Muscles and fur on the bear came next and then a silhouette of a man’s body and he carved muscles into him as I got older. It’s weird but he would always say, it’s got to grow with you silly Sif. If my mom is eclectic my dad was eccentric. He loved mythology of all the cultures he could ever find. Sif, Norse goddess of the Earth and stuff.

The last thing my dad added to my little charm is The Hand of Fatima. He said it’s to ward off evil, little Zam-Arm-A—Tay. I specifically remember that nickname since he wrote it on his arm and spoke it like he was reading Old Persian for the first time. Technically it was the second time he read Old Persian. The first was when he wrote it on his arm after finding it on the internet. Zam Armatay. Goddess of Earth and stuff again. He has a thing. Had a thing about Earth and all the ideas that all these ancient peoples cared about.

Me? Smartphone. Read a bit about the things. Done.

My dad? Research blackhole. Days, months, some research pits went for years. Never done. Constantly talk about everything he learned.

But after this Fatima thing, he died. No funeral, just a celebration of life. No casket, just an empty urn that became unsettling familiar just sitting on our hearth. “Hi dad,” I said every morning, rubbing the urn like maybe if it was a genie, he’d come back. My mom did the same but she talked a lot more and a lot longer than I did. I don’t know about what. Nothing sad though. She was always smiling.

And with that, charm in my hand, my memories floating through my head, and official birthday tonight – the nap. Elusive yet a spectacular way to make time move.