New Grounds

     Andrei stepped off the terminal, boris trudging slowly behind him. Saliva caked Boris's shirt collar, indicating the massive drool quantities he managed on the 8 hour plane ride. People rustled by, but they did so in a manner uncommon to both russians; politely. Nobody bumped them, nobody swore, and everyone seemed content with the life they lived. Andrei began to light up a stogey, until a TSA officer quickly snatched it from his hands. 

"No smoking in the airport sir."

      Andrei examined at the security officer, who appeared to be no older then 20 years old. His face was splotchy with acne, arms thin as the average Russian junkie. 

"Such a bold move," Andrei exclaimed, pulling out another cigarette from his pack. "In my country you would be dead already."

"Well I don't know where you're from, but here in the US we don't play games. You light up that bogey and I'll have you hogtied and sweating like a pig in the back of a squad car."

     Andrei did not expect such a retaliation. He did not know what a squad car was, but judging by the scrawny officer's uncexpected confidence, he was not sure he wanted to find out. He tucked the ciggarette into his shirt sleeve, and issued his cousin to continue walking. The security guard smirked as the two made there way towards bagage claim.

"Foreigners."

    As the two russians made way through the airport terminals, the bright colors surrounding them kept them fixated on anything but the walkway ahead of them. Restaurants, gift shops, news stands, anything they could imagine was right there in their vacinity, without and junkies or thugs looting or heckling shoppers. 

"Boris, look at all this opportunity. So many places to work, so many places to make money. Imagined if we owned one of these places Boris, imagine the millions of dollars we would have. The american dream, we are so close."

     Andrei paused, realizing he was getting no response from his cousin behind him. He turned around, and Boris was no longer there. After a few minutes of searching, he finally comes across his cousin Boris near the gift shop magazines. He holds the latest issue of "Hustler" magazine, pornographic images spewing from the pages. Andrei slaps the magazine out of his cousins hands, grabbing his collar and pulling him close.

"You will have plenty of time for this bullshit when we are at the motel. Walk"

    People turned and stared at the two as their confrontation developed, waiting for one to make the first move. Teenagers began filming on their cellphones, expecting the next viral fight video to unfold right in front of them. Andrei looked around, aware of the spectacle the spectators were awaiting. In Russia, fights were a part of every day life. A day didn't go by where a robbery or stabbing didn't take place, to the point where onlookers learned to simply ignore these events. Andrei looked around at the individuals circling him, lost as a zoo animal in its exhibit. He spat on the ground before them, and grabbed his cousin to keep walking. 

"Fucking Americans. Something tells me we will be very important here in the states Boris. But through whatever happens, we must remember one thing. Life goes on"

Image Source: TheAtlantic.com

Corresponding Blog

The Last Peek

"Flight to Las Vegas, boarding in 5 minutes! I repeat, flight to Las Vegas, Nevada, boarding in 5 minutes!"
The two cousins made their way towards the boarding gate, no carry ons at all. They shared a single suitcase, which held every bit of property they would own in their new lives. Andrei fiddled anxiously with his buttons, looking around at all of those who surrounded him. Business men in suit and ties of all ethnicities, making rounds throughout the world as they practice their trades. Young couples eager to leave the desolated land where their parents still remained. So many people, with so many stories. Andrei considered his story. It was one many others would not like to know.

    The flight attendant brushed through the isles, ensuring each passenger got a final glimpse of her fake smile. Boris squirmed uncomfortably, his wide hips digging into the arm rests.
          "This piece of shit plane was made for the French, how is a man suppose to relax in such a tiny thing?"
    Andrei was caught up in the plane instruction manual, where he nervously panned the safety plans he made need to know on his first flight
           "Look cousin, there is giant raft we use if plane crashes in water. This is good to know, you should be reading this too."
           "Aha but Andrei, what good will raft do if plane crash on mountain? Will raft heal your broken body as you slide down it? Ha!"
    Boris's smile, clearly content with the bit of humor he had just conjured. He picked up a copy of Roland Barthes "Image Music Text,"but quickly set it back down due to it's lack of nude pictures. Andrei considered the thought of him burning in a fiery crash alongside his fucked up cousin, as the flight attendant made her rounds to his aisle. He shrugged off her measly offering of month old tea crackers, and leaned over to grab a bottle of vodka from her cart.
          "Sir, you can't just grab that. 300 rubles or hand it back this way"
   Andrei cracked the top, and chugged the entire 12oz bottle. Boris chuckled, and the flight attendant grew red in the face.
          "You fucking northerners are complete savages, I recommend you pay for that immediately before you get kicked off this flight."
    Andrei stared blankly at the attendant, before slowing reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of bills. He crumpled them, and one by one tossed them in the direction of the woman before him. The flight attendant collected the amount, as well as an extra 200 rubles for the hassle, and Andrei leant back. The warmth of the vodka slowly came over him, as his eyelids felt gravity play its part. He took a final glimpse of the cold russian lands around him, and slipped away to his journey to a new life.

Picture from EnglishRussia.com
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