Francine Peters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thatsamilkshake) wrote2008-05-09 11:50 am
thatsamilkshake) wrote2008-05-09 11:50 am
Entry tags:
William P. Hobby Airport, Houston: Early Friday Morning
"You have your boarding pass? And your passport? And your clarinet-case? And your sunblock and calamine lotion?" Marie Peters didn't stop asking questions as she poked at every area of her daughter that was remotely pokeable, which, Francine was grateful, were fairly limited by the mountain of carry-on luggage she was currently struggling beneath.
"Yes, Mom. Except for the lotion; that's already checked. No liquids on the plane, remember?"
"As if you're going to blow up a 747 with SPF 75."
Francine buried her face in her hands - almost dropping the aforementioned clarinet-case in the process - as two uniformed FAA employees looked suspiciously over at them. "Oh my God; they don't even like you joking about stuff like that this close to the security line."
"Honestly, do you think we look like terrorists?" her mother asked a passing woman. Who happened to be wearing a headscarf and an ankle-length tunic.
"Mom!" Francine groaned, shooting the woman an awkward, apologetic smile. She glanced at her watch, then pointed hopefully at it. "It'll take half an hour just to get through security. I've got to go if I don't want to miss my flight!"
"All right, honey." A loud, lipstick-smearing kiss was pressed into her cheek, and her mom squeezed her shoulders far tighter than she had any right being able to squeeze.
"Oomph."
"Be careful."
"Ok."
"Don't forget your sweater."
"O-"
"And your sandals. And your toothbrush. Practice your clarinet. Don't talk to strange men on the plane unless they have sons your age. Write home every week. Get out in the sunshine. Go swimming. Get some exercise. Eat lots of fruit. Stick with your diet. Stay out of the rain. Don't catch cold. Remember, no one there has ever seen you naked. Make some new friends."
Who don't live in a crackerbox house under the power lines like that Choovanski girl went unsaid, which kind of shocked Francine given 1) how often it hadn't gone unsaid in the months since her best friend had run away, and 2) the fact that nothing else that fluttered through her mother's head was currently going unsaid.
"Sure, Mom." Francine didn't believe for a minute that she'd stop talking long enough to notice the sigh or the eye-roll.
"And.... try to have some fun, baby." Or maybe she would.
"I will."
"Really?"
Maybe. "Really."
~~~
[NFB/NFI due to distance, OOC happily chomped.]
"Yes, Mom. Except for the lotion; that's already checked. No liquids on the plane, remember?"
"As if you're going to blow up a 747 with SPF 75."
Francine buried her face in her hands - almost dropping the aforementioned clarinet-case in the process - as two uniformed FAA employees looked suspiciously over at them. "Oh my God; they don't even like you joking about stuff like that this close to the security line."
"Honestly, do you think we look like terrorists?" her mother asked a passing woman. Who happened to be wearing a headscarf and an ankle-length tunic.
"Mom!" Francine groaned, shooting the woman an awkward, apologetic smile. She glanced at her watch, then pointed hopefully at it. "It'll take half an hour just to get through security. I've got to go if I don't want to miss my flight!"
"All right, honey." A loud, lipstick-smearing kiss was pressed into her cheek, and her mom squeezed her shoulders far tighter than she had any right being able to squeeze.
"Oomph."
"Be careful."
"Ok."
"Don't forget your sweater."
"O-"
"And your sandals. And your toothbrush. Practice your clarinet. Don't talk to strange men on the plane unless they have sons your age. Write home every week. Get out in the sunshine. Go swimming. Get some exercise. Eat lots of fruit. Stick with your diet. Stay out of the rain. Don't catch cold. Remember, no one there has ever seen you naked. Make some new friends."
Who don't live in a crackerbox house under the power lines like that Choovanski girl went unsaid, which kind of shocked Francine given 1) how often it hadn't gone unsaid in the months since her best friend had run away, and 2) the fact that nothing else that fluttered through her mother's head was currently going unsaid.
"Sure, Mom." Francine didn't believe for a minute that she'd stop talking long enough to notice the sigh or the eye-roll.
"And.... try to have some fun, baby." Or maybe she would.
"I will."
"Really?"
Maybe. "Really."
~~~
[NFB/NFI due to distance, OOC happily chomped.]