Still Life by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Still Life

Page 14

Back Down to Earth

Their plane lands with a sigh, wheels kissing the tarmac like a reluctant promise. Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport greets them not with grandeur, but with fluorescent indifference and the scent of duty free perfume. Finn blinks at the sudden brightness, his champagne haze replaced by the sterile hum of plain neon arrival.

Susie moves with purpose, her duffel slung over one shoulder, her passport already in hand. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. The prophecy has gone quiet in the grotesque cacophony. Not yet absent, it lingers in the folds of her coat, in the way she avoids eye contact with the customs agent.

Outside, the air is cooler than expected. Amsterdam is awake, but not yet alert. Trams clatter in the distance, and the sky wears a shade of gray that feels curated.

They board a train to Utrecht; second class, perhaps an adjustment from the US to Europe, deliberately. Susie insists on it. “First class is for people who need to be seen, and recorded by the relentless papparazi,” she says, settling into a window seat. “We’re here to witness.”