Suspicion

   So it's September 11; the 10-year anniversary of the U.S. terrorist attacks and I'm getting on an airplane home after a volleyball tournament with my team, at the Kansas City International airport. Hellooo, am I feeling good or what? Afterall, it's Missouri, and nothing happens here in the "Show-Me" state!
  After a check-in and a full-body pat-down, we wait at our gate. People are chattering and the security is shutting down... why? Yes, there are more than a "normal" amount of agents and security airport officials, but it's a high-security day and I (thought I) felt good about that ("that" being the numerous people able to dog-pile me, if there might be guns and razor blades being shot around).
   Except, when I call my parents and they are telling me how much they love me and they "try to tell me that everyday, and I'm hoping you know that, and I hope you're safe, and stay close to your coaches and teammates," I start to panic.
   And the fact that I'm with almost all of my volleyball team because two girls and the coaches didn't make it in the security area.
   And the Kansas City Bomb Squad is around the building... and we are being escorted 2-by-2 to the restroom...
   "Please move to the corner of the gating area, away from the windows!!!"

   Okay, I believe I'm allowed to be distracted from the huge amounts of reading and homework I have to complete by the next day; from getting home to do laundry; from everything that might be going on around me, that I'm thinking I might not find out about.... ever.  Because all I can think about is that everyone is saying the "b-word," and you're not allowed to say "b-o-m-b" in an airport.
   We finally get on the plane, reluctant as I am to do so, but they rush us off to Nashville... where they won't let us come to get off the plane. Because we are contaminated and have to be boarded off the plane from the runway, driven to the airport's gates, re-searched, patted down (again!), bags through security, canine dog on the plane, and watch each person go through this laborious process, like fish in in a fish tank.
   People are taking pictures of our sad plane driving by, with nowhere to park.
   Needless to say, when I got home, I ate a pound of carrots with peanut butter and talked myself into thinking it's been a traumatic day and I should go to bed, without showering.
   It's only logical for a disheartened warrior to gain relief and her sanity with a nice slumber, without her life being threatened. So I can re-focus a distracted mind.

P.S. This should have been posted on, or close to September 11, 2011. But... you know...