Author's Note: Please apologize for the slow start. I promise, I will do my best to make it worthwhile.
I sighed heavily as the Uber carrying me and my partner, Emily, whom I met online nearly two years ago and have been with in-person for the past eight months, pulled up to the hospital entrance. We both thanked the driver and I opened the rear passenger door, while the driver popped the trunk so I could grab Emily's duffel. Slinging it over my shoulder with one hand and interlacing the fingers of the other with one of hers, I nudged the car door shut and we walked hand in hand into the hospital, where the receptionist, knowing us by sight at this point, ran through Emily's check-in for her surgery quickly and efficiently.
As we sat down to wait for the doctor, I must have been visibly troubled about going off on an adventure while she was stuck at the hospital and the apartment, because she turned to me, laid her hand on my cheek, and said, "I'm not made of glass, Querido. Go, have fun. You've worked so hard, and plus, I can still sit on my fluffy ass and do my job just fine." As a remote customer service rep, this last part was certainly true. "Alright, as long as you're absolutely sure." Suddenly, she pulled me to her in a big hug and whispered, "You are a doofus, you know that?", before sucking on my neck in a way that, had I been prone to them, would have left a hickey. My attempts to return the favor, specifically the noise I made doing so, almost drowned out her next words: "Maybe by the time you hit the Virginia border, I can send you an 'after' pic without bandages." The soft "oooh!" that came out of my mouth made her giggle like a child, one of her most endearing qualities.
The doctor, who also knew us both fairly well by this point, emerged and waited patiently for us to come up for air. "Take good care of her, Doc," I said, getting up to shake his hand. "I will, John, don't worry." He'd said many times how he admired my dedication and my compassion, and it was in his eyes when he looked at me. When I walked over to Emily, she was already on her feet, her pink dress and her hiking boots rather out of place with each other. "Bye, Emmy," I said and gave her a passionate kiss, which she returned with just as much passion before she broke apart and said, "Go, before you miss your flight,
dummkopf
*!" I chuckled, as my flight wasn't for another four hours, before letting out a short, sharp, "hey!" when she slapped my decidedly non-existent derrierre.
(*"Dummkopf" is German for "dunderhead" or "fool.")
"Brat," I muttered, to which Emmy responded with a stuck-out tongue as I extricated myself from her presence and exited the hospital. Not really feeling like getting straight back into a car right now, I walked in the general direction of our apartment. I'd barely gotten a block from the hospital when Emily texted me:
If you find a Padawan, use that fancy droid you bought to send me a hologram.
Rough translation: if I meet a beautiful woman who may or may not end up being our 'third' (did I mention that from fairly early on, we both discovered we were polyamorous, and had wanted a third ever since?), use the sat-phone attachment I bought for my smartphone to send her a picture. Or twenty.
Even though the hospital was no more than a quarter-hour's walk away from our apartment on a bad day, we had decided to take an Uber to the hospital, as Emily had trouble moving around. She was having surgery to reduce the size of what were, for better or worse, overlarge breasts. This, in turn, would reduce the weight on her back and the rest of her body, and would thus make it easier to move around. Part of the process would also involve some liposuction, so the combination would go a long way towards improving her physical health.
I didn't notice a young brunette woman climbing into an airport taxi across the street from where I was deep in thought about the upcoming trip. Nor did I notice she tossed a rucksack into the trunk with hiking poles strapped to the sides and a sleeping bag slung underneath.
As deep in thought as I was, I hardly noticed that I'd walked all the way back to the apartment. Chuckling, I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door, before heading inside and taking one last look around, to make sure I had everything. I was planning to fly from Pittsburgh International Airport to Nashville, Tennessee, and use a myriad of trails to hike back within two to three months. One of the things I was taking with me was a BB pistol. I figured if there were any small animals that took too strong an interest in my foodstuffs, I could use the BB gun to, hopefully, scare them off by shooting near them. I also tracked down a store in Nashville where I could buy bear spray, if needs be. Rounding out the bag's contents were a US Marine Corps-styled KA-BAR knife--one of my more esoteric purchases from the surplus store near where I used to live--and a holster for my BB gun.
The BB gun, as well as five Co2 cartridges and a flat, pocket-sized bottle of metal BB's, were locked in a hard-sided case. Even though it wasn't necessary to declare it, as it was not an actual firearm, I still treated it as if it were, and would put it in a duffel bag along with a few other items I planned to attach to the rucksack when I arrived at my destination, including a detachable hydration pouch, hiking poles, and a sleeping bag. Hoisting the two bags, after grabbing a small fanny pack with a water bottle holder attached, I made my way down to the street, where I called an airport taxi.
When one pulled up to the curb, I put my things in the trunk and hopped in the back seat. I didn't really feel much like small talk, so I rode in silence until we reached the airport, where I thanked the driver and went inside. Immediately, I noticed a young woman who seemed to be having some trouble at the check-in counter. My job, as it turned out, was with one of the companies that contracted out to the major airlines, and I was one of the ticket counter agents.
