The flight was heinous. Sumeyya had flown before with her family on a couple of vacations, across Europe, into Asia, one time even to New York City. The one to America had been long, yes, but nowhere near as long as this one. Forty-seven hours. Where could a person possibly fly to that would take so long? She had never been the best student in geography or math, but she doubted even flying all the way around the world non-stop would take so long. Perhaps it had been some trick, and the super-secret superhero agency took them to a base on the dark side of the Moon. She smiled a little at the thought, though it didn’t touch her eyes. It was absurd that in her world such a thing could even be probable.
She kept to herself over the egregious span of time. These people made her feel uncomfortable. Their thoughts and histories brushed against the edges of her mind, so many unfamiliar tongues that she could taste and which she feared could taste her back. They were special in their own ways, just as she was. Could they read minds too? Feel the emotions of others as though they were their own? Before he had died (or was it as he had died?) her grandpa had told her, “You’re a special girl, my little Kutsal. God means great things for you. But you must be careful. This world is not kind to special people.” In that moment she knew he was right. The air in the cabin was stale with unspoken tragedies.
Sumeyya stewed in her chair for most the flight, arms and hands antsy across her turquoise blouse and black chino pants. Her head was covered in a hijab, a spectrum of blue and green in floral patterns draped down to across her shoulders. It was silly, but it gave her some feeling of comfort, of protection. She had not worn the hijab for years. It was too unfashionable, too outdated for a modern girl, consigned to the realm of the old and the modest. Now she felt it was the only thing which lay between her and these strangers, the last reminder of her old world and of her family. She recalled a picture she had seen of her mother in her youth, wearing a similar garment, and wondered how alike they would look if she could stand next to the girl her mom used to be. Practically twins.
The flight announcement shook her from these thoughts. They had landed, salvation at last. She jumped from her seat and regretted her haste as her legs cramped. Ruddy damn plane, ruddy damn superheroes. She collected her purse and her carry-ons and waddled out the door. The sun beat down upon them all. A soft, tropical breeze carried the scents of brine and palms. Memories of Antalya.
The group had little chance to get their bearings before they were set upon. The man, HD, screamed and wailed, but Sumeyya was unimpressed. She had seen and felt real rage on others. This was practiced, something that he thought his job required, a cartoon character out of some American war film. She had always enjoyed those, though her sister found them distasteful. It was a feat of self-composure that she didn’t smile or laugh. Out of any reaction, she knew the man would appreciate that one the least.
Barracks, though. What in God’s name had she gotten herself in to? Her head was on fire. She should’ve been back in college, dutifully ignoring her classes and sleeping in until the mid-afternoon. The others seemed to be taking to it like fish to water. They mingled, socialized, laughed. She kept still, buried her head in her hands. Too much, it was all just too much. The din receded as the majority of them made their way to their new home, leaving her to sit her on her luggage.
Finally she’d had enough. It was time to get on with things, to steel herself. Well, it was time to not be a total catatonic sad sack, at the very least. She slung her purse over her shoulder and dug inside of it, luggage rolling along behind her. The clicking of her heels stopped as she found a decent place in the shade of some building. She found her cigarettes and lighter, and lit one with little grace. She realized her hands were shaking, and felt ashamed. She’d never been a heavy smoker, had never really liked it. It used to be more of a social thing, something she did because her friends did. She had promised her brother months ago that she would stop. This was only her third cigarette since, but it stung more than any other.
She cursed under her breath, something in Turkish, words with a history that would put the old and superstitious on edge. She had to calm down, clear herself. She let her mind wander too much. Things would get out of control. The smell of New York, Atlantic air mixed with car exhaust and a mass of humanity. A smell she’d encountered herself, but this wasn’t her memory. She raised her head and noticed that she wasn’t actually alone. Whatever. Might as well go for it.
“Oh, hi there. I’m Sumeyya. I noticed you on the plane,” she said to the man in the sunglasses, the man a part of her already knew. “You’re Evan, right? American. I was there once, in New York. Cool city.” Her English was good, but came out slowly in a heavy accent.
Evan…yeah. From New York. New York was a big city, what part of New York? Gunfire rang out, police sirens. A fire washed over her, bathed her in heat. Her stomach felt empty, hungry, tired. YANKEE STADIUM in gold letters. The Bronx. More American movies, more lives that weren’t hers but that she lived anyways. She shivered, and hoped he wouldn’t notice behind his sunglasses.