Our theme for the month of October is “flash nonfiction.” Writers were asked to submit pieces that were 250 words or less.

Airports are odd organisms, teeming with all kinds of life and occupying an otherworldly space. They have been filled with hope, representing dreams as people seek something better and brighter and can bear the mild price of airport security and outrageously priced food. Airports have brought me to friends and family and places full of wonder.

But airports are never all that good. They’re also merciless concourses of LED grayness and despair distilled into the suffering of absence. I’ve gotten six hours of sleep in the past forty-eight hours, of which the remaining forty-two were filled with dangerously high cortisol levels and futile attempts to kill time while being tossed around by the waves of agent incompetence and severe weather.

As a reformed Protestant, I’ve never known what to think about the idea of purgatory (though, admittedly, I also don’t know what to think about heaven and hell). I’ve been half-jokingly referring to these past couple days as a kind of purgatory, something like The Great Divorce. 

But now, of course, I’ve started considering that there’s more to the idea than just talking to flight agents and snapping at my husband in purgatory. A suffering of absence—different from the nice transitory properties we’d like to associate with someplace like purgatory. No goodness or movement, just floundering in place and trying to just be. 

Airports, y’all. So much hope and despair in the midst of moving and staying.

Anna Jeffries

Anna graduated in 2020 with a degree in mathematics and English literature. Originally from Asheville, North Carolina, she now lives in Washington, D.C. An expert in British murder mysteries and Frasier, Anna likes to read about interesting stuff, jump between hobbies, and rank all the different museum gift shops.