User blog:WikiBuilder1147/Key to Survival - SSC

I HALF EXPECT to hear her keys jingle.

Instead, silence echoes up the stairs.

Why on earth does my mother have to take me to the airport? She's always so distrustful of other drivers. Always thinking they will make me late, or kidnap me, or something. It's only a bit of a drive from Carine to get to the airport, and the plane leaves in two hours! What's the rush? Mother knows best, I suppose.

I cannot wait till I fly. I cannot wait till I finally leave this overly neat house and flee to Japan to begin university. To start my life afresh. A real life, without the influence of that woman. I cannot wait.

"Tony, have you seen my keys?" comes the familiar squeaky voice.

"No, mother," I reply. Damn it. She's always losing those keys. And today of all days too.

"Well, keep a lookout for them, honey." Lookout? What am I, some lowly crows-nest boy on a pirate-ship?

"I'll just get a cab, Mother, don't worry." I try my luck to get her out of my face.

"No, no, darling," she chimes in instantly. "I want to make sure you get to the airport safe and sound."

I'm nineteen for God's sake.

"Keys...keys...keys...," I can hear my mother muttering to herself. Drawers slide out, cupboard doors slam closed. Doors are opened, then squeak shut. I wonder if the furniture can feel the pain being inflicted upon them at this moment.

I am so angry...angry......ANGRY! Unbelievable. It's like I'm nine years old again, when I didn't know any better. She always says, "Do this Tony!" "Do that Tony!" and I always say, "Yes, mother," "Of course, mother," "At once, mother."

I make a huge ruckus coming down the stairs before slamming the luggage bag onto the tile floor extra hard to make my point.

"Let's go, mother. Like, NOW," I say, hoping that she'd get the hint and call the taxi.

"Keys...keys...keys," she says. I feel like I'm going bald pulling these hairs out. At nineteen, I'd be concerned.

"Look, the keys are never going to materialise at this rate," I shout gruffly. "We might as well call the taxi."

"But I want to—"

"Leave it to me, mother," I call again. I whip out my phone and call the taxi before she can say anything else.

When I'm done I can feel the sweat pouring down my back. And onto my best shirt. Fantastic. I take a look in the mirror. My hair is all over the place. I must have been shaking so hard my hair went berserk. I correct it as best I can. I wanted to be looking my best for the first day of the rest of my life.

I check my watch.

An hour, twenty minutes to go. The Mitchell Freeway will be starting to fill up! How much longer will he be?

Honk, honk.

Thank the stars! I look like I have Parkinson's as I open the door.

"The taxi's here!" I scream.

"Coming! Just need to get my handbag."

Oh, God.

・・・

I sigh in relief. The Freeway's been kind to us this morning. I thank the gods of traffic, if there are any.

I retract my prayer as we swing onto the Great Eastern Highway. As if on cue, a parking lot has teleported itself onto the road before us. All three lanes are filled all the way to the horizon. When will this nightmare end?

I can't believe it. I-cannot-believe-it. Why now, of all days? What have I done to deserve this?

If Mother hadn't been so damn stubborn about those shiny pieces of metal, we most certainly would not have been in this mess right now.

One hour to go. I could walk faster than this.

Mother suddenly, almost gleefully gasps, "What if you miss your flight, honey? Oh dear! Oh my goodness!"

I sat, slowly, silently seething with rage as we crept towards Perth International Airport. Through the back of my mother's chair I could feel her smiling. I'll be spending another twenty-four hours with her.

I'm not gonna make it. Check-in closes forty-five minutes before the flight. And how much do we have till we get there?

Lookie lookie! 45 minutes.

After inching through another hair-pulling traffic disaster I grab my bags as fast as I can then sprint to the check-in counter.

My hair falls out of place again.

"Sorry, sir, checkout's closed," says the attendant.

"B—but—" I stutter.

"I'm sorry, sir. We can't allow anyone who was late on board. It's the fuel, you see."

"B—b—but—"

"We can always re-ticket you for another flight for tomorrow."

"B—b—but I have my ticket right here—look! SwanWings Flight SW-475!"

"Like I said, we can always re-ticket you. I'm sorry, and thank you for choosing SwanWings." She goes back to work.

I just stand there. I look down on the floor and see the hopes of my quick getaway shattered on the floor. My escape route was blocked.

"Did you make it, honey?" I can hear the voice of my mother. Oh no.

"What does it look like?" I mutter angrily.

"Well, let's go home then. You'll just have to wait another day."

I sigh in defeat. "Fine."

I drag myself back to the taxi, put my bags into the boot and get back into the car.

"Back so soon, sir?"

"Missed the flight."

"Oh."

Magically, the trip home was completely devoid of traffic problems. Which led to a deepening of my anger. Or sadness. I'm not sure anymore.

An hour later, we arrive back at the house. The music on the radio is interrupted by a voice.

"We interrupt regular programming for breaking news. This is Mix 'n Match Nine-Eighty-Three.”

Then another takes over.

"Good morning, this is Brent Hadley from Mix 'n Match. This just in – it'll be on headlines all over the world soon enough – An Airbus A330 has just crashed into the Indian Ocean just several kilometres north of Rottnest. There were quite a few witnesses to the incident. It is unknown if there are any survivors...

"Just in! The doomed flight has been identified as...

"SwanWings Flight SW-475. The entire station is praying for the survival of all those on board."

"B—b—but that's my flight!" I stuttered and gasped at the same time.

My mother, the driver and I are all looking at each other via the rear-view mirror in shock. I can't believe it. I-cannot-believe-it.

My annoying mother's stupidity has saved my life.

...

I am so happy...happy......happy.