Fear

Theo sees stupid people. He has never been to an airport on his own before; he doesn't like people touching him; he likes numbers; he hates questions; and he's sure of why he's running away.

Theo saw stupid people everywhere.

Apparently, if you’re alone and you leave your bag on an airport seat to go to the toilet and then return to find it gone, the security-man had every right to take it in case you might blow everyone up to the sky. And, evidently, if he asked you what was in it at his office, you can’t just reply with, “A bag of very dense nothing.” According to everyone else, that wasn’t a reasonable answer.

“It’s just nothing.”

“What’s in the bag, son?”

“It‘s just nothing.”

“There’s a padlock on it. Afraid for people to find out what’s in it?”

“It’s none of their business to go rooting in my bag.”

In his eyes, this man was very stupid. If Theo wanted people to see that he had a pad of paper (which had 80 plain sheets with 34 drawn on and 46 clean), three pencils (with one that had a novelty rubber on the end in the shape of a bear), 3, 000 pounds cash and approximately 1, 500 on his debit card, passport, ticket, and seven pairs of socks, seven underpants, two shirts, a pair of trousers, and a toothbrush, then he’d not have a padlock on it.

Quite clearly this security-man did not understand.

Theo didn’t like the speck of dirt on the idiot’s badge, either.

The security-man looked like he was going to blow; suddenly Theo was nervous. He wasn’t relieved when the officer collected himself and asked, “Can I see what’s in the bag?” The calm-nature could be like one of her tricks.

“You promise you won’t hit me?”

“.... What?”

He didn't want to sound scared but his voice shook too much: “You promise you won’t hit me?”

“Ah, ah,” faltered the officer, unable to formulate words.

Theo attempted a recovery, and pushed for a negotiation. “I don’t like people touching my things and invading my space, but if you won’t hit me, or shout - I don’t like shouting people -, then I’ll let you look. But don’t touch! Don’t touch!”

The officer, who was on the other side of the desk that was organised and tidy, (which made Theo particularly happy about this room), leaned forward in his chair. His moustache of fine black wires was neatly trimmed and Theo could see the hanging-light’s reflection on the man’s glossy head; perhaps this man could win his approval. Theo’s eyes lowered from his completely bald head, to the man’s eyes: they had some strange sincere look that Theo wasn’t accustomed to.

“Are you on your own son?”

“I can‘t tell you that.”

“How old are you?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Where are your parents?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“You’re a stranger.”

“Will you tell me where you’re heading to?”

Theo waited for a sign that the officer was going to rape him. Nothing happened, so, calmly, he answered the question, “Scotland, so I can go to the highlands.”

“How are you going to do that?” asked the officer in an astonished mumble that Theo however picked up.

At that, Theo saw the idiocy in the officer return; impatient, he said, “Well, I get on the plane -”

“No, I mean are you just going to walk to the highlands when you land? Can you drive, son?”

“No - and stop calling me that, I’m not your son.”

“It’s a habit,” said the officer, who raised his voice a little at Theo’s tone. Once more uncomfortable with the officer's volume, Theo thought defensively that his own answer was in a tone that was low-leveled and so there was no need for the man to shout.

“I will walk,” said Theo angrily. “I will not take a taxi if that’s what you’re thinking, or ask for a lift, or take public transport.”

“You’re about to take a plane.” Now the officer looked at Theo as if he was the stupid one - Theo flustered more.

He argued back, “I want to get as far away as I can.”

“Then why Scotland?”

“Because I live in Kent and the other countries scare me.”

“Why the Highlands?”

“The pictures looked peaceful.”

The officer had a face that made Theo think he wasn’t being taken seriously as the adult he was. At an infuriatingly slow rate, the officer’s words came: “As a member of security, I want to see your passport.”

Theo understood this, as he knew this was a reasonable request that would end this irritating obstacle. He didn’t like the man however, because the man stole his bag, which Theo thought didn’t happen at airports. Taking his bag by its leather strap, he pulled it off smoothly - if he did it without care, then the heavy bag would have made a horrible squeaking noise which would have sounded like a hand that’s being pressed against glass and sliding down it bit by bit.

He got the key out of his pocket and undid the lock. He did this with as much care, too, as he would with picking a house’s keyhole.

Sinking in his seat, Theo raised his passport and waited for the officer to retrieve it.

“Thank you,” the officer mumbled, taking it. He flipped it open and read Theo’s name (which Theo felt uneasy about). “Connelly, Theo Connelly. Born on the fifth of August.”

“Can I have it back?”

“You may. But say ‘please’ in future - hasn’t your mother ever taught you manners?”

Theo nodded and said bluntly, “She used to smack me if I didn’t ask how people were. To be honest, I don’t really care. I’ve grown used to asking it but in reality, if you were angry, or upset, or happy, I didn’t want to know. I don’t know emotions and I don’t care for people.”

“... What about your father?”

“He made me say please and thank you, too. He also called it courtesy to open the door for a lady first and to shake a man’s hand when you meet one. I hate doing both. People can live without going through the door first and having not touched another man’s hand.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“I had a sister before me. I didn’t know her. She was given up.”

Unsurprising to Theo, the officer looked stunned.

Now avoiding the man's eyes by focusing them to count the number of pens on a black tin pot on the desk, Theo pursued, “I don’t care for her and I’m not sad she was given up. I never knew her.”

“Wouldn’t your parents be worried now that you’ve left them?” asked the officer.

“Might be.”

“Don’t you feel bad?”

“No.”

“Should you be going home?”

“No.”

“Do you think this is a mistake?”

“You’re annoying me,” and then Theo’s eyes skipped to the clock on the white wall.

Abruptly, Theo got up and hung his bag over his shoulder, doing it with caution so that its contents didn’t tumble out. He turned to the officer. “I’ll be leaving now. My plane is due.”

“I need to check the bag, son.”

With a flat tone, Theo said, “If I had a bomb in my bag, it would have gone off by now. I wouldn’t have put a timer that I’d need to start by hand on it as soon as I got on the plane because, though I have a memory superior to normal people, I don’t like ticking things off on a list. I’d rather get them done there and then instead of having to wait to do them. So if I did have a bomb, then I would have activated it by the time I left my house to make it go off in a few hours - since you’ve kept me here, my time would have been wasted and the bomb would have exploded. That, or I could have set it off while I’m still in the airport, surrounded by hundreds of people crowding for the popular destinations like Florida and Sydney - which were half-an-hour ago - not for necessarily a queue for a small plane. Terrorists like big crowds. By that logic, my bomb would have blown us to pieces already and I wouldn't be here. Tell me if I'm wrong.”

“Uh -” The officer didn’t get up from his chair, and Theo grasped that this may be because the man didn’t want to look intimidating. His face had softened, Theo also mentally-noted, like his words had got to him; that happens with a lot of people whenever they ask too many questions.

“I’m right,” Theo said quickly, opening the door and leaving. The man didn’t go after him: maybe this meant Theo was right indeed and that his words had certainly got to him.

“I don’t like talking about them,” he then started to mutter, uncaring for potential eavesdroppers within the numerous people who annoyed Theo because they were invading his space as they passed. He charged down the halls and continued talking to himself, “But at least it touches other humans’ emotions well enough for them to leave me alone. Now, what time is it?”

Thirty-two minutes exactly had gone by, by the time Theo put his bag on his lap when he sat down in his seat in economy-class. A red-nosed old man who had such intense body-odour that made Theo’s eyes water settled down next to him a minute after, and he quickly made Theo anxious - the stranger’s fat arm was touching his naked shoulder. In answer to the uncomfortable touching that the stranger didn't barely appear to notice, Theo quickly untied his jumper from his waist, slipped it on to cover his shoulder, and buckled his seat-belt. At least now the stranger was touching fabric instead of skin. Theo thought he might manage to tolerate this stranger's presence.

He made sure he got the window-seat but originally doubted he would: it was in his mind that airport-staff are incompetent, though they've now successfully surprised him. Staring out the window and playing lightly with the life-jacket under his seat between his feet, Theo tried not think of life at home or what his parents were doing at that moment.

He was sure he didn’t make a mistake, but the more he thought about it, the more he began to feel the same strange agonising churn in his stomach he felt when he left the house knowing he’d never return.

JB Tillen "Tills"

Author's Note

Any comments on the character of Theo is really appreciated, and questions on his story and the general plot is welcomed :)