Checking In

[Mikkelus]

As trips went, Mikkelus supposed it had gone well, though he didn’t have much on which to base his comparison. Which is to say that the train hadn’t fallen off the rails anywhere on the two hour ride between Ruggell and the airport in Zurich. The airplane hadn’t fallen out of the sky or made any unscheduled landings on the fourteen hour flight between Zurich and Boston, and he’d survived the in-flight meals consisting of sardines and crackers. Only one of his bags had been sent on the wrong plane, to Barcelona, but the friendly representative at the SwissAir customer service counter assured him the bag had been found and would be in Boston within the week. After a painful trip through the meat-grinder at baggage claim and customs, he found a vacant taxi that would take him to Salem. Fourteen miles, an hour and half, and a hundred fifty dollars later, the cab dropped him off at the school and he wheeled his single bag to the guardhouse.

He’d followed another new arrival, or rather, a returning student, through the security entry point, gotten his room assignment from the administration office, and found his room to drop off his luggage. Then, he’d managed to hold it all together through dinner. Well, okay, to be honest, probably most of dinner. He’d been tired and hungry since before the flight had ended; after he’d eaten, fatigue weighed on him.

Once in his room, he pulled off his shirt. Bruises covered his arms, his torso, every place he’d been bumped or pushed up against by someone in the crowded airport. Grabbing his towel, he found his way to the dorm showers and adjusted the spray, letting the warm water wash over his aches. Then, well-fed and clean, he returned to his room to sleep away the night.

He knew that by morning, the bruises would have vanished. He knew, also, that in the morning his appetite would be back a vengeance. But that was tomorrow morning; tonight, he fell into bed and slept.