Work Text:
June 14
7:08 PM
"This is so boring."
Leo had been staring at the view from the floor by Gate 151 of the Toronto Pearson airport for so long that the scifi architecture and constant flow of passengers were starting to imprint themselves on his eyeballs. They had boarded and unboarded two different planes with two different mechanical failures, and their 1:55 PM flight had, over the course of the afternoon, morphed into a 8:19 PM flight. (And who knew how credible that number was: it had come from the same woman at the same desk with the same tinny intercom who had first informed them that there appeared to be a small mechanical failure in left wing that needed to be checked before any flights could be made, but there was another plane for them and they'd be off by 3:10.) Toronto to Halifax wasn't a long flight, and he'd only brought two cassettes for his walkman. Next time, he'd have more foresight.
"You could always go ask Mom if you can borrow her Jumbo book of crossword puzzles," said Erica without looking up from her book, from her perch above him in a visibly uncomfortable position across two seats.
"Whoa, whoa, we're not nearly at that level of boredom desperation," Leo groaned.
"Really? I mean, all I have to judge by is your excessive whining..."
"I'm not supposed to go over there anyway. Mom said Sam and I needed to separate for awhile and banished me to Ericaland," he said with a fake chuff of laughter, glancing at the across the 151 seating area to where the other Stranges were sitting. Dad was napping, and Sam's gangly frame was overflowing on Mom's lap, both of their attention focused on the "emergency" Etch-A-Sketch Mom had been bringing on trips since Leo was five. He was fairly certain this was the toy's greatest hour.
Erica made a moderately conversational noise, which he was fairly sure translated to something along the lines of 'That's really too bad, because at least when I was the sole inhabitant of Ericaland, I could read my book without disruption.'
Leo was pretty good at reading her signals, but he was exceptionally good at ignoring them. "The worst part is that after all this waiting we have to spend an entire week at Nana's house. Board games and guilt trips and awkwardness, oh my."
Erica's lips pressed together tightly, but she didn't say anything. Usually she was the first to jump in on this game, the fact that Nana so obviously preferred their cousins had always offended her on some strange, moralistic Erica level. Not that Leo really liked Nana's house any better: it smelled funny and there was this bizarre weight of obligation that always kept everyone sitting in the living room, talking about nothing. Plus Dad always forced him to help repair squeaky cabinets and broken doorknobs, because Nana was old and "you love to build things, Leo", but the minor repairs they'd end up doing always felt more like chores than building, and maybe it would be better if they were treated as such. Their last two visits had ended with the three Strange children hiding out in the guest room as if it were their fortress, listening to Erica work up righteous indignation about the fact that they had to come at all.
"But seriously," Leo said after a long minute of silence, trying a different tack, "I have never in my life been as bored as I am now."
"Sure you have," Erica groaned. "Because life is boring. We chug along from high point to low point and remember those peaky moments, and then conveniently forget how many times we had to take out the trash and do our homework and suffer from excruciating boredom between them."
That was unexpectedly deep for an eleven-year-old, and for a moment Leo wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to respond to it, so he squinted at the book she was so intent on continuing, wondering if this is the theory of life according to The House on Mango Street, through the mouth of Erica.
"Anyway, since you're so bored, I have a couple of other books in my bag..." said Erica
Leo made an exaggerated face of disgust. Erica was in a Jane Austen phase, which also included all those other women who were like Jane Austen whose names he could never remember, and as much as continuing the Terminal 1 peoplewatching to the sound of Springsteen sounded miserable, it was still a step above reading about prissy British girls from ages past torn between their love of love and their love of manners. And crossword puzzles.
"Whatever, enjoy your whining, then," said Erica, swinging her legs down. "I'm going to go pee." She used his head as leverage to push herself up and out of the sticky airport chair.
His eyes traced her path as she wandered off in the direction of the bathroom, ponytail bobbing. But halfway there she stopped, turned back, and walked straight toward a grey-haired businessman who (Leo realized) had been watching her the entire time she'd been watching.
Leo squinted at him, trying to figure out his game. Kindly older gentleman, or weird airport pedophile? He glanced over at the other camp of Stranges, but they appeared to be stuck in a time warp, because there was just no way an Etch-A-Sketch could keep anyone with a brain occupied for more than a minute. They hadn't even noticed Erica was up and about, even though she'd wandered off to the bathroom without telling them, after they'd all specifically been told not to wander off without telling an adult. That rule had seemed exceedingly strict five hours ago when it was mentioned, especially since he was a teenager now, but now that his younger sister had wandered off and ended up deep in conversation with a complete stranger, he felt like he could grasp the wisdom of it. He snuck another glance at his parents and rose, slowly sidling up to Erica and her friend.
"...relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them," the old guy said.
"Who's that?" Erica asked.
"George Bernard Shaw."
"Well, thank you for that tidbit of wisdom, it's really clearing things up for me," Erica said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I still don't understand why I'm here and not..."
"Erica."
Leo started, realizing that the man had noticed and was staring at him. Erica turned around and saw him, moaning "Leo," in exaggerated exasperation. In the half-second he focused on her, the older man had disappeared. Leo whipped his head around, trying to see where he'd disappeared to, but he was nowhere to be seen. Creepy.
"Who was that?"
"No one, some guy," Erica snapped.
"You don't know him?"
"No, and it's really not your bus--"
"Not my business that you're talking to some stranger in a crowded airport terminal? Erica, guys like that --"
"Guys like what?"
"-- guys who target eleven-year-old girls -- "
"Ew, Leo --"
" -- you -- you just have to be careful!" Leo finished dumbly.
"It wasn't like that, Leo," she said, rolling her eyes and turning back in the direction of the restrooms, as if to end the conversation. He followed her.
"Then what was it like? You were pretty deep in conversation with some senile dude you'd never met!" Leo said indignantly. This was ridiculous: she could hardly act like she was the one on moral high ground here.
"He's not that old," she said stiffly, "He was just some nice old... guy who wanted to... tell me that I... remind him of his daughter."
Well that just settled it.
"You do realize that's a classic pedophile pick-up line, right?"
"How would you know that?"
"I just do," he mumbled lamely. "Everyone knows that. Seriously, what was he talking to you about?"
"Well, he's my time-travelling partner in crime," Erica said dryly.
"What, the Emmett Brown to your Marty McFly? Erica, seriously --"
"Leo," she said, whirling around to face him and stopping so suddenly that he almost tripped over his feet and ran into her. "Just drop it, okay? I am fine, not kidnapped or anything weird like that, he was nice, and now I'm going to pee. Okay?"
"You do realize that I am just being a responsible older brother, right?"
She softened at that, even though she moaned, "Yeah, if by 'responsible' you mean 'super annoying.'" Yeah, he could be pretty charming when he tried.
"Leo," she said. "I'm going to go the bathroom. Unless you want to follow me into the ladies' room, you should go back to the gate. The plane'll be here... eventually."
"Okay," he said, "Okay. But if you start any more discussions with creepers, I'm coming back over."
"Deal," said Erica, an edge of sarcasm still in her voice. They shook on it, and he turned back to the gate.
Halfway there, he turned back, expecting to see his sister gone. But she was still just outside the door of the bathroom, watching him walk away.