As I shuffled along behind the gloriously beautiful Amazons, I said to myself, I need a bath and I look awful. And *that* means I'm awake. I stink; therefore, I am.

---

 

17. Put Her Down!
 

During the landing sequence I told Wiggy my dream, and she remarked on the places when I'd said something out loud.

Obviously, I had to leave out the rather essential part about changing sexes, which became difficult once Wiggy began asking questions.

"So in this dream," she said, "Your mother — I mean your mother in real life — didn't like you because of the way you were all over Jerry."

"Right," I said.

"And your dream mother, Mrs. Auburn, thought about putting you on the pill?"

"Right again."

"So," Wiggy said, bringing her eyebrows into an inquisitive frown, "How come that didn't happen in real life?"

"What?" I blurted out.

"I mean, if you two were so hot for each other, how come your real-life mother didn't want to put you on the pill, and all the other stuff?"

"Uh," I said, caught at a loss. I was about to point out that my mother *had* flown to California and *did* put me in an all-girls school, but...

Seeing my discomfort, Wiggy immediately backed off. "Hey, I'm sorry, Marcie! I didn't mean to get so personal... just forget I asked. It's no big deal."

"Thanks," I said, and added, "I'm still waking up. My brain's a little addled."

She smiled sympathetically. "Not sure who you are yet?"

"No, for sure," I said, and gave a weak laugh.

She immediately changed gears, and told me the plot of the in-flight movie, which I'd missed.
 

---

 

As we left the plane and entered the terminal, I was still disoriented. I couldn't seem to wake myself up; I walked, I hugged my carry-on to my chest, as if it were a baby, but I felt as if I were still wrapped in my bedclothes. It felt like the middle of the night. I'd slept nearly fourteen hours, but I still felt groggy... ready for bed.

I haven't traveled much, and time zones... forget it! I had enough trouble with the three-hour difference between California and New Jersey. Now, it was just after three in the morning in Honolulu, which meant it was nine in the morning in Flickerbridge, New Jersey. I'd slept "all night" — so why did I feel so out of it?

The Marcie Auburn experience had something to do with it, I'm sure. It really marked me... like I said before, it didn't just seem real, it was real... at least, at the time.

In comparison, I could see that reality — real reality, waking reality — is different. Right now, ironically, it was fuzzier and more confusing than the dream had been. In some ways it was more unpleasant: My mouth was dry and had a bad taste; I was achy and stiff, and my shoes were really tight for some reason. Plus, I suspected that my hair didn't look quite the way it was supposed to.

As I shuffled along behind the gloriously beautiful Amazons, I said to myself, I need a bath and I look awful. And *that* means I'm awake. I stink; therefore, I am.

After that thought came another: I don't *really* stink, do I? I judicious and discretely sniffed at myself and decided that I was fine. I smelled like any other teenage girl.

I raised my head and looked outside the big terminal windows. It was dark, dark, dark. Still night time. The world was asleep, and here I was shuffling through a airport. I should be asleep, too.

If I was an adult, I'd be wishing for a cup of coffee.

My brain was functioning at a minimal level, just enough to allow me to move my legs and not fall over. As far as awareness of my surroundings... well, like I had said, it was minimal: I just kept dragging myself behind the pack of blonde heads, and that worked well enough for me.

Until...

A slim man in a suit slammed into me with his hard, bony shoulder, and jolted me out of my dull, mindless shuffle. I swear, I never knew that a shoulder could be so bony, hard, and hurtful!

"Ouch!" I cried. I wanted to say more, but my brain wasn't quite up to it yet. It happened so unexpectedly! I turned to look at the culprit, but he didn't stop. He just kept on moving, in a hurry to get... well, probably to catch a flight.

Then, one of the Amazons, Donkey, appeared out of nowhere and slammed the man with *her* shoulder at least as hard as he'd slammed me.

It not only broke his stride, it knocked him sideways a few steps. He stumbled, but recovered, and he kept on going. He didn't even turn! Donkey called something after him — something uncomplimentary, I'm sure, and then she ran up alongside me.

"Are you alright there, Marcie? Did that jerk hurt you?"

"No, I don't think so," I said, "it was more of a surprise than anything else."

"Oh, good," she said. "Anyway, I tried to give at least as good as you got."

"I appreciate it," I said, smiling. "It was nice of you."

"Hey," she said, putting her arm around my shoulders, "We take care of our own. When Mirina saw how out of it you are, she asked me to shadow you, to make sure nothing happened."

I was astonished and touched. "That was really nice!" I said. "I have to thank her. And thank YOU, too!"

"No," she said. "Don't say anything. Mirina likes to think of herself as the godfather type, you know? Behind the scenes, pulling the strings? She only comes out front when she has to. At least, that's what she thinks she does."

"Okay," I said. "Well, anyway, thanks again."

Donkey smiled and gave me a hug. She stayed at my side until we reached the spot where the Amazons had gathered.

As we approached, Wiggy was pulling a second folder from her bag. I figured it held the tickets for the second flight.

"Okay," she squeaked. "Listen up! We're going to check in for the second flight. If anyone has to go to the bathroom, now's the time to go. We'll wait for you." No one moved. "Okay, then: all you need to do right now is get out your passport and hang onto it. I'll call you up, one at a time, once we get to the counter."

Obediently, all the girls and the two teachers dug into their bags. I took a breath to rouse myself from my mental fog, and opened my own handbag, which oddly seemed half-open already.

I reached for my wallet. It was a big one, big enough to fit my passport... but it was gone!

Quickly, jerkily, I shot my hand into every corner of my bag, but my wallet wasn't there!

Immediately, I recalled the impact of the slim man's shoulder, and knew what happened. I lifted my head, and looked into Wiggy's eyes.

The look on my face must have startled her, because she looked a bit frightened.

"That man," I said, "the man who bumped into me — he stole my passport!"

Donkey's jaw fell.

By some strange instinct, I turned and spotted him across the terminal. He was so far away, he looked about four inches tall. "Call Security," I told Wiggy, and set off running.

I realized I was still clutching my carry-on bag to my chest, but it was too late to drop it now.

The thief was easy to see. He was walking slowly. I figured he was looking for a new prey, and I was right. As soon as he spotted his next victim, he changed direction and headed directly toward her. It was easy to see who he'd chosen and why. This woman looked distracted, as I must have done: She was staring at something while she walked.

By now, I was much closer, and when the thief picked up his pace, so did I.

I knew what he was going to do. Once he built up to ramming speed, he was going to hit the woman with his shoulder, and lift her wallet right out of her purse.

The woman he'd chosen was a well-dressed, dark-haired woman in her early thirties. She continued to stare upward at something... maybe she was a little lost, but in any case she didn't see the man bearing down on her.

But more important than that, he didn't see *me*.

I kicked into high gear, and came round the woman on the other side. I wanted to catch the thief after the snatch.

And that's just what happened.

He was so intent on lifting her wallet that he was completely unaware of me. He was moving fast, but I was moving faster.

When he plowed into the woman with his shoulder, I saw his hand slip into her handbag, and slide out clutching her billfold.

"Ooof!" she cried in surprise.

As he'd done with me, he didn't turn his head. He acted as if he wasn't aware of the impact.

In an inspired moment, I took my carry-on bag in my fists and threw it on the floor in front of him.

He tried to step over it, but his left foot caught in the handle, and he stumbled. If he hadn't been moving so fast, he could have kept on going, but his momentum carried him forward. He couldn't free his foot, and so he fell. He came down hard, with a thump!, and his chest and chin hit the stone floor. I ran up and planted my foot on his left upper arm, just below the shoulder, so he couldn't get up. I leaned into him with all my weight.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Donkey running toward me, but she was still a long way off.

The dark-haired woman turned to face me, shocked and frightened at what I had done.

"This man just stole your purse," I told her. "This man just stole your purse!"

She didn't or couldn't understand me. She looked at me with utter incomprehension, paralyzed by the sudden violence.

I looked over my shoulder again at Donkey, who suddenly stopped running and pointed behind me.

As she did, a pair of strong hands grabbed my upper arms and lifted me off the thief. "That's enough of that, young lady," a strong masculine voice said from behind me. "I saw what you did! I saw it, and you're in trouble now!"

Donkey came trotting up. The man on the ground twisted his head and looked up at me. "That little tramp!" he hissed, "Did you see what she did? She attacked me! She made me fall! I hope you're going to arrest her! She better not make me miss my plane! I'm telling you: someone is going to have a big lawsuit on their hands!"

In spite of knowing that I was right, what he said frightened me. I had to hope that the truth of the situation would save me.

Then I noticed that while he spoke, he was shifting the woman's billfold into a pocket inside his jacket. He'd stayed on the ground so that his body would cover what he was doing.

But I guess it didn't work as well he thought.

Once he'd tucked the newly-stolen wallet away, the man on the ground began to gather himself so he could stand. But before he could, the woman he'd robbed stepped up and planted her foot on the thief's right shoulder, and leaned into it hard, pinning him to the ground once again.

"Put that girl down!" she told the security guard in a commanding tone. "This man stole my wallet, and that girl tried to *stop* him! Put her down, I said! PUT HER DOWN!"

Slowly, uncertainly, the security guard lowered my feet to the floor, and — a little at a time — loosened his grip on my arms. I guess he wanted to see whether I was going to run away.

Donkey, grinning, and glad to get into the act, came up and put her foot on the poor thief's other shoulder. His head was turned in her direction, and he glanced up at her in alarm.

"It's a good thing I'm wearing jeans," she informed him. "Otherwise, I'd have to poke your eyes out."

In the midst of all this, a little girl's voice broke through. She said, "Look, Mommy! It's the girl from TV! It's the girl from TV!" The mother dragged the struggling girl off, but the damage had been done.

The woman who'd been robbed stared at me. Then the light went on. Her mouth fell open, and she cried out, "Oh, my God! You're the girl who was kidnapped, aren't you! You're... Mar... Mar... you're Marcie Donner, aren't you!"

"Oh, boy!" I said.

"This is victor-charlie-niner," the security guard said into his walkie-talkie, "I need backup near the north escalator in terminal C, do you copy?"

A crowd began to gather. Some were there to see the man on the floor, and some were there to see "the girl from TV" — me, although it was obvious from their comments (like, "Which one is she?") that most of them had no clear idea who I was. And *that* was a good thing.

Once the other security guards arrived, we were escorted into an ugly, windowless office. Donkey followed at a safe distance with my carry-on bag. She didn't want to be "escorted" as well.

As the office door closed, she called to me, "Don't worry, Marcie! We have a couple hours before the flight. Wiggy will take care of everything!"

One of the guards stood at the door, to make sure no one could leave. A man in a suit sat behind a desk and asked for an explanation.

The thief leapt to his feet and launched a tirade of accusations against me, against the woman he'd robbed, and at "that rude blonde girl, who seems to have conveniently disappeared."

The man behind the desk let him carry on for a bit, then indicated that he'd heard enough. He asked me for my story, which I told as quickly and as simply as possible. The thief kept interrupting with exclamations such as "What a lie!" and "Why, I've never seen this girl before in my life!"

Next, he asked the woman for her story, and I realized that he saved her for last. Now that I had a chance to really look at her, I understood why.

First of all, she was a good-looking woman. She had a vague resemblance to Jennifer Garner, and she was dressed like a business executive, in a white blouse and a black suit. Her skirt came to her knees. Even dressed as she was, you could see she had a great figure and nice legs, and the man behind the desk understood all that and yet was fairly discrete in his appreciation of those facts.

Her hair, on the other hand, was nothing to write home about — it was short and needed some help, but... nobody's perfect, and she was traveling, and anyway we weren't here about that.

Second of all, she had more credibility than either me or the thief. She was obviously a victim. No one accused her of anything.

While she spoke, the thief didn't dare interrupt her, and in the end, he was forced to empty his pockets and his bag. In all, he had were seven wallets from seven women.

After a bit of paperwork, I emerged from the office with *my* wallet and all its contents, and was greeted by a series of flashes from a half-dozen cameras, professional and otherwise. A reporter button-holed me and started asking questions.

I wanted to cry. I needed to go to the bathroom. I didn't know what to say.

Wiggy sidled up next to me and gently wrapped her hands around my arm. "We can get you out of this," she whispered.

I looked at her with pleading eyes. "You can?"

"Yes," she replied softly. "Just tell the reporter that you're here with the Amazons, and make him look at Mirina." She smiled a crafty smile and with an almost imperceptible nod pointed to Mirina with her chin.

I turned back to face the reporter, and saw Mirina standing behind him. She looked absolutely stunning, literally head-turningly lovely, and the rest of the Amazons were lined up a few yards behind her.

"So what brings you to Honolulu?" the reporter asked me again.

"Um, I'm here with the Amazons," I told him, and gestured to Mirina.

He turned to glance at Mirina, then turned back to me — but only for a moment. He did a double take. Mirina smiled at him, and he completely turned his back to me. His entire manner changed. She began to talk, and he was all ears. In just a few seconds, he forgot all about me.

Amused, surprised, and relieved, I turned to Wiggy, who was laughing silently. She gestured with her head to say Let's get while the gettin's good! and the two of us slipped off.

Wiggy led me away to a safe distance, still holding my arm, and we turned back to see Mirina leading the reporter and his photographer to the group of Amazons.

"Thank God!" I said. "That's amazing!"

"Hey," Wiggy said, "Sometimes NOT being blonde and gorgeous is the best talent you can have."

"Yeah," I said. "And you know what else? I really need to find a bathroom, quick!"

Wiggy chuckled and pointed, and we zoomed off, arm in arm.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

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