Previously in How Steemit Changed My Life
I met the love of my life on Steemit and eventually we decided that I should move to England. I suffer from Cerebral Palsy, so, normal every day activities cause me pain and fatigue, especially since my hands are extremely impaired. I therefore struggled with the preparations particularly since I just stopped using opiates to manage my pain.
Somehow my computer components ended up disguised as a bomb; there were buried drugs; a large pink dildo, and a stolen prison outfit.
Chapter Links:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Chapter Six
“Welcome to England!” he said with a smile on his face.
I thanked him and quickly walked toward the baggage claim to get my suitcases and after twenty minutes of trying to locate them from one of a dozen whirling carousels, I eventually found both of them with the help of a busy lady, miles away, behind a screen. Each of them weighed just over 48lbs a piece and I was struggling to roll them behind me along with my carry-on bag, so I went to find a cart.
Unfortunately, I couldn't lift my luggage onto it and by that time there was nobody around to help. So, I struggled onward towards customs, tugging at the suitcases, which resisted, like two unruly mules. By then, my hands were so worn out that the heavy cases constantly slipped through my fingers crashing to the ground; causing terrible echoes through the empty airport.
I stopped just before customs due to screaming pain and fatigue and also a sense of impending doom: I had no idea if I was headed for heaven or hell. Would I breeze straight through to meet Cathi-xx or would I be stopped and bombarded with questions about the content of my bags?
Would my luggage be torn apart, resulting in me being hauled off to some rapey prison? Would I catch every British venereal disease? Would I be shipped back into the American wild to infect the rest of my countrymen as payback for the War of 1812? Am I patient zero...?
There were three entrances into customs, “Arrivals from the EU,” “Nothing to Declare” and “Goods to Declare.” My heart was racing as I tried to decide my fate, I thought that maybe my best option was to declare that my suitcase was not a bomb, but then it dawned on me that I should simply declare nothing and play dumb.
I sucked up all my courage, but as I dragged myself through the twisting, white hallways one of my suitcases fell from my hand. I glanced down as it fell and as it hit the ground with a shotgun blast, I saw a pair of speeding, shiny business shoes make a startled double skip.
I looked up at the business man, and as he regained control of his spooked feet I just knew that he was no stranger to this sound and he had seen his fair share of gun violence in the States. He probably worked as an accountant for some unscrupulous types, but when the numbers didn't add up they came after him.
Just when he thought he was safe in his home country, “Baaam! They got me...” but as he patted himself down checking for holes he became aware that it was just another retard dropping his suitcase. Horrified, I pretended that it wasn't me, quickly grabbing my luggage and continuing around another bend.
But then I was shocked to see, right there in front of me the beautiful, gleaming exit, I'd made it! Relief washed over me as I saw that there were no suspicious cops; no drug sniffing dogs and no TSA agents rifling through people's unmentionables. I couldn't believe that British customs was on the honor system and I could casually walk through the, “Nothing to Declare” door and Britain would just take my word for it.
I felt euphoric until I realized that @cathi-xx would be behind those doors and my emotional rollercoaster began ticking to its highest peak. I wanted to stop and panic but my body was on autopilot, walking me against my will toward the doorway to meet @cathi-xx for the first time.
I knew that @cathi-xx hadn't worn her glasses for so long that she couldn't even find them, so it was all up to me to make first contact. I began scanning the faces of all the people standing on the other side of the security rope and then I saw her curly brown hair, but I barely caught a glimpse of her face before impatient people overtook me and began walking between us.
Unfortunately, I had to walk in the opposite direction in order to get behind the security rope, but when I turned back I could no longer find her, since I could only see the backs of hundreds of heads.
I knew that first impressions were important and I was very concerned that I might hug the wrong person and get caught in an awkward moment by @cathi-xx. Sadly, I've suffered through many of these moments, like the time I had to leave the grocery store empty handed because I took the wrong cart.
I was so fixated on all the amazing deals that I barely heard the crazy woman yelling, “Sir!... Sir!... That's my cart!... Somebody stop that man!” I looked around to see who this seedy cart thief was only to find a strange baby joy riding in my cart.
So, to avoid another cart incident I needed to find a way to draw @cathi-xx out of the crowd. I knew I couldn't just call out to her, because her real name, Sarah, is so common that I was bound to wind up with two or three of them.
I wanted to find a way to make everyone turn so that I could examine their faces, but I didn't want people to see who was disrupting the peace, after all this was an airport. So, stone-faced and attempting to throw my voice without moving my lips, I proceeded to make weird farm sounds like, “Moo mother-fucker! Moo, moo!” and “Cock-a-doodle, mother-fuckin'-doo!” I figured that @cathi-xx would know that it was me and turn immediately.
After about five minutes I needed a break so I went to a coffee shop to rest my strained body. But before my muscles could even relax, a voice in my head screamed “What the fuck are you doing? Get out there and find her!” I immediately got up grabbing the two heaviest suitcases known to man and began violently shoving myself through the crowd like a determined quarterback who just needed a few more yards.
As I pushed through the crowd throwing shoulders at anyone in my way and risking injury, all the while suitcases bouncing over people's feet, I saw @cathi-xx's face turning back and my two suitcases immediately slipped from my fingers and slammed to the floor, again.
After nine months, ten days and seven hours (or five and a half chapters) there she was, standing right in front of me with brown flowing curls; a colorful silk shirt and her desperately clinging jeans and I'll never forget that beautiful face squinting past me like Mr Magoo.
I forgot all about my suitcases and the people tripping over them as I ran over to hug @cathi-xx. My chin was resting on her shoulder and my arms were squeezing her waist. I leaned back, gazed into her eyes and we began to kiss as my hand slid down to cop a sneaky feel of her butt.
The End
Coming Soon: Oznog Abroad
