Rachel Brooke

dallas love field

I didn’t drink, but I liked the bubbly drinks that they served in the lone terminal in the airport. I said thank you to the bartender and tipped him a dollar and walked over to those large windows. No one talked about how peaceful the stars and moon look as planes rocketed towards them in that Texas sky that goes on forever.  The sparkling, blinking lights looked like something out of Gatsby and I realized I wanted to hold a party in this only terminal in this single building airport. I wanted to shake hands and dance with people that came from oh-so-far-away, men that made their money in oil and the women that saved them and ruined them. I wanted to sing until midnight and learn “Yellow Rose of Texas” and don a long gown to match the song. I wanted someone to buy me bad airport food and another bubbly drink and I needed to tip the bartender another dollar. I thought that you see so much of a place from the airport, but they tell me about the bluebells and how they built another airport. Larger. Better. Modern. One where you don’t want to sing until your lungs give out and one where you don’t feel like a socialite with her bubbly drink at Dallas Love Field. 

30 January, 2021

Rachel Brooke is a university student studying history and storytelling in Southern California. She has works published or forthcoming in DASH, Kalopsia Lit, Splintered Disorder Press, Symposeum, and others.