-Part 2-

The sensei was talking on the phone near the security gate after I had cleaned up. With this many people around and me not having a mask to hide from them, I couldn't help the gnawing apprehension in my brain. Yet I shoved the thoughts away and focused on him.

"Why are you still here?" An accusatory, survival instinct built up in my mind: Is he a pervert?

"Waiting for you, just in case. The delegates have gone in." He stared at my hand. "You left your shirt."

"What? Oh, yes. No. It was too cumbersome to carry, so I threw the soiled shirt away. I have enough clothes to dress a village of people."

His eyes narrowed as he grinned. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but decided against it. 

"You're going somewhere?" I asked when he joined the dilatory line after me. "I thought you were sending off your boyfriend."

"I'm Aarón's RA." His hands and eyes were busy looking for something inside his brown leather sling bag. With each word, his speech became slower. "I've… been assisting him with the rural settlement research for... a year now."

I glanced at his leg. His gait didn't show any resistance. "You're aware that the research is in the Amazon, right?"

His eyebrows bumped together, hands still busy. "Un, yes?"

"And that the Amazon is not Muir Woods?"

"I signed the consent form with a hundred percent sobriety, so yes, I'm aware of it. Why?"

"Nothing." I shrugged and entered the airside area, waiting for the sensei to walk in front of me once he presented his I.D. to security.

He walked slower with each step because he was still busy finding something in his bag (I thought he was searching for his I.D. earlier). I tugged his shoulder when he almost stepped on a middle-aged Italian woman who was sitting on the floor while talking to the phone, leaning on GATE 8's glass wall, with her rucksack on her side. He bowed at her and suddenly apologized in French. The woman sat straight, swaying her thick hand to him as she smiled.

"Jesus Christ. She's Italian. Look straight ahead when you walk," I said.

"Didn't I apologize in Italian?" He peeked over his shoulder and gave her a small bow once again. “Oh, wait. That was French.” He then continued searching for something in his bag, clearly wasn't paying attention to his surroundings.

The airside area was almost deserted. Tilting my head, I checked my watch. It was five minutes past six, and we were getting late for departure. "Pick up your pace, sensei. We have ten minutes before the gate closes." I looked ahead, and he suddenly stopped walking. I almost kissed his head. "What the hell..."

"I..." He spun around. His eyes reddened.

"What's with you?"

He stared at me, but his hands were still ferreting around for something in his bag.

"Hey, you alright? Let's go," I said.

But he was not all right. His face was as pale as the floor. I wouldn't associate it with good health. He leaned low on the wall as if his legs gave up on him.

I stared at him, trying to extrapolate his facial expression. "Sensei, are you, perhaps... afraid of flying?"

He shook his head, then he nodded. "I was so sure I brought my pills," he said, barely audible.

"Well, that is massively inconvenient. Regardless, you have to get on that plane." I glanced at my watch. "We have less than ten minutes. Let's go."

He sat on the floor, hugging himself. "I don't think I can. I couldn't do it before."

"Yes, you can. Let's go. I'm leaving you here if you don't stand up."

"Then just leave me the fuck alone." He sounded more annoyed than frantic.

Gah! Now he's annoyed with me?

"Jesus. What are you? A teenage girl?" I clicked my tongue and walked away.

He suddenly burst into sobs.

My damned legs stopped moving forward. I turned around against my better judgment. He cried between his legs like a child who just scraped his knee. A small hole from the past emerged in my heart. I kneaded my temple and cleared my throat. "Listen. I need you to relax, okay? You should slow down your breathing before you hyperventilate."

He continued crying as if he didn't hear me. 

What a strong reaction. It would've taken a big trauma for him to act this way. Perhaps the bus accident?

Considering the pro et contra, I glanced at the deserted area (thank God) and hunkered down beside him. I then said in the most earnest tone I could voice. "Hey, kid. What's your name again?" No answer. "You wanna know something? So... the thing is, I'm claustrophobic." 

I was, at least. The nagging apprehension was still there somewhere in my subconscious mind, but I had mostly dealt with it years ago. So the fear was internalized now, boxed and pushed to the back of my brain. I wonder if the claustrophobia is feeling claustrophobic stuck in that box.

The sensei looked at me. His ivory cheeks were slicked with tears.

"I don't know whether you're afraid of flying or if you're claustrophobic too, but you know what my brother would do every time I'd have a panic attack?" I stared at his golden irides. "He'd ask me to look into his blue eyes and imagine that the surrounding room is as big as the sky, and that the sky is always expanding." The sensei was young, but he seemed like a child when he cried. "You see, I'm kinda scared too, but you don't see me panicking, right?" I patted his knee. "So come on. Look into my eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine that we're the only people in this world. There's plenty of space for us to frolic on."

He took off his black-framed glasses and dried his face, sniffling still.

"My brother always said, just because a task is disconcerting, doesn't mean we can't deal with it. Now let's go. It's gonna be alright. How about... we save each other? Okay? You're safe with me as much as I'm safe with you. Alright?" I took a step away, but he pulled my arm.

"Please, wait." He exhaled and stood with jellied legs. "Can... can I hold your hand?"

I stared at his trembling grip on my wrist, and it became firmer when I scrutinized him.

"It doesn't look like you're letting go any moment now." I didn't like the idea of someone grabbing me, so I took his hand instead and strode toward our gate. "Let's go, kid. I don't wanna pay for my own damn ticket if we miss this one."

"Jona," he whispered.

"What?" I craned over my shoulder at him.

"You asked my name. I'm Jona. Jona da Graça. And... I'm not a kid. I'm twenty-four."

"Don't blame me that you look like an eighteen-year-old. Blame your Japanese genes."