Wise Trade

Janice Smith had been an architectural engineer for 23 years. She had distinguished herself not only as a woman in a male-dominated vocation, but also and particularly for her talent at overcoming complicated design challenges on-time and often under budget. Since obtaining her degree she had advanced quickly through agencies and positions to serve as principal for one of the top Fortune 100 design firms.

The name Janice Smith was associated with some of the highest-profile engineering solutions featured in trade media during the past five years.

By all respects, the name on the card inside the dangling hang-tag, “Jan Smith” seemed as fraudulent as the richly simulated leather of the knock-off brand suitcase from which it hung. Janice considered this momentarily as she swung the bag into the overhead bin, then lowered herself into the isle seat as her thoughts sank even lower.

Fraud. Fraud was following her, and even here amidst the anonymity of coach she couldn’t seem to flee from it. Tomorrow, Janice along with a littering of engineers and executives from her past and present would be indicted for fraud. Thirteen indictments. Thirteen corners cut, thirteen costs shaved, thirteen solutions pulled from a hat using less surrepetition than an average birthday magician. But there’s no need for misdirection when the clients have come to expect miracles and the media is focused on the curve of your suit as it pulls across your breasts.

Now Janice was at an end. The emptiness which she had buried deep beneath her rising career was now floating to the surface like so much flotsam and her reflection on the water was now only so much filth.

She had boarded the plane with hopes that she could lose her pursuers by getting lost in the Midwest. Going to ground in an unexpected place, she left behind everything of herself: clothes, jewelry, her cellphone and PDA. Her full-sized luggage was full of space, a pair of sweats, and a change of undergarments. In the outside pocket she had stuffed nearly fifteen-thousand dollars in large bills, representing all the money available in all of her checking accounts. Beside it she stuffed various bottles of medication, the last of the prescriptions with which she had maintained her sense of self. It had become all she had left in the world.

As the engines spun up and the jet backed away from the gate, Janice realized that even if she had managed to get the jump on the federal investigators, she still would not get ahead of the darkness piling up from deep in her soul. Could never escape the fraud that occupied row 11, seat C.

Midway through the flight, she rose from her seat to access her luggage. From the side pocket she removed the plastic grocery sack which held her last savings, then removed a few pills from a few bottles. Closing the bin door carefully, she slipped the pills into her pocket and slipped quietly toward the back of the plane. She paused at a point past the wings, opened the overhead compartment, and spotted a worn-out canvas rucksack with a peace sign painted in fingernail polish, and shoelace as stitching through a rip. Quickly she loosened the drawstring and stuffed her package of bills inside. Then drawing the bag tight again, she closed this door, too, and proceeded to the tail galley where a flight attendant answered her need.

Back in her seat again, she reclined the seat slightly and braced her head with a pillow. Janice sipped at the water she had received to moisten her throat. Then she slipped the pills past her lips, a fatal combination of pharmacology, and rinsed them down with the remaining water. It was, after all, the last honest thing she could do.

Shortly, the empty cup fell from her numb hand with an absence which simulated sleep.

###

Janet Smith was the first out of her seat, eager for the excitement of a new locale. Her fake drivers license had been good enough to get her a ticket on any flight going anywhere that she could afford using the money she had boosted from the jacket of her court-appointed guardian. He had been so blind, so naive as to think that just because she was fifteen it meant that she couldn’t look out for herself. She could certainly do better than him; no one had ever ripped her off of nothing.

Janet had no idea where she was going in life, but she knew that great things were out there for her. She just had to find them. In her experience, she found many things by simply taking advantage of the moment. She knew she needed things, but she knew she could get by until…until she got them. Gripping her rucksack swiftly as the bins opened, she managed to knife her way up to row 11 before the crowd of commuters in the isle forced her to stop and wait.

The deep sleep of the nicely dressed woman beside her caused Janet to glance into the bin above her seat. It caught her like a miracle, a calling, a dream waiting to happen. There, at the level of her eyes, was a fine leather suitcase bearing her name.

Time froze while she considered the implications, then she glanced about her forward and back. The other passengers were busying themselves with shuffling out of the seats and gathering their own wits about them. Too busy to pay attention to the way she rested her arm on the bin while casually tossing her sack toward the shadows of the compartment. Too busy to think anything was amiss as she shifted forward slightly with the isle traffic, slipping her hand over the handle of the suitcase.

As the space in front of her cleared, she gave the handle a tug and a voice behind her said, “Excuse me, miss?”

She released the handle as she snapped around, feigning confusion and innocence, hoping it would give her enough credibility to escape the plane. After all, no crime had been committed. Janet had only touched the other bag as she was sliding her arm along the bins.

She turned to meet the eyes of an older gentleman, far older than her guardian. A fossil by her reckoning. The man’s eyes were clear and strong, but their gaze upon her were kindly. “Allow me,” he said as he lifted the bag from its berth and set it into the isle behind her.

“Thank you,” she smiled, and she inhaled a clean breath before she stooped to the handle, pulled and began to debark. She knew beyond certainty now that she had made the right choice, that God or someone had wanted her to take this bag. She knew that she was trading up wisely, and she left her rucksack behind like a future she wanted to discard.