01.
the last things she packs in her carryon:

☐ a tooth brush she bought in california three years ago on a business trip that had gone wrong. it's a garish orange, and stiff.
☐ razors hastily bought at a CVS where the cashier had been considering what to buy for dinner, trying to choose between a deli and fast food. molly didn't care to point out that she'd been shortchanged.
☐ an old blink-182 song from an ex-girlfriend she never intended to return even after promising otherwise ☐ a TSA compliant bottle of advil that she knows she'll use most of. she wishes she could bring a much, much larger bottle.
☐ a small bottle of whiskey, bought at the airport. over priced, but would be best when they took off.
☐ a tattered copy the shining by stephen king, bought when she was fifteen, a few pages hanging on for their life.
☐ her ipod classic, half charged and hadn't been updated since may. the headphones are over ear, but molly knows it won't do much for her
☐ a dark blue hoodie julia had bought her in 2005 when molly had become too larger for any of the clothes in the house. on her now, it's even bigger than she had been with teddy. but it's warm and still smells like julia's cabin so who is she to complain?

02.
an international flight just means that when her telepathy goes haywire, there are many more thoughts from many more countries on many, many more subjects.

mostly, she decides to pay the most attention to a french family that seems to be in the midst of what she wants to believe is a family row. the angry thoughts that they have drown out her own discomfort in her seat, the the fact that her phone's music wasn't satisfying enough, and the general headache that she tends to live with.

there are more than enough of people's discomfort in the plane that she is privvy to, from a business man grumbling to himself about his seat to the flight attendants own gossip. it's not that different from home, only seemed to be filled with more exotic locations and according to one, a good deal of drugs.

she falls asleep right around the time the lights go dim, and most people start to drift off. she dreams of nothing and it's bliss.


03.
the airport is bigger than she thought it would be. she exchanges a few hellos, head foggy, but pleased that at least, there's nothing in her head but her own thoughts. it's useless to hope that it stays the entire trip, but hope springs eternal.

she passes by the older woman who's head she'd been inside, and isn't very surprised at the annoyed expression on her face or the way her husband hardly assists with her luggage.


04.
the hotel is lovely and the bed even better when she sinks into it. all of her aches, and the little voices that trickle in feel unobtrusive. there's some help in that she can't recognize what most are saying, and when she does, it doesn't consume her.

she could get used to this. mostly, though, her body wants to sleep.

a single text message goes out to julia: in munich. i love you.


05.
things she finds she'd forgotten to bring:

☐ an extra pair of jeans, to balance out the skirts and slacks she'd brought. the ones she has are ripped at the knees and thighs, barely keeping together.
☐ a sturdier bra; the one she'd chosen is on it's last legs, the wire starting to press deeper against her torso. having to pay for a new one isn't exactly something she cares to do.
☐ the cash she has is limited, and it takes an hour for her to find the concentration to flag her card for use. she ignores emails from work as best she can.
☐ the bear she'd bought for teddy. it's still at home, and she regrets not having it here to hold all for herself.