~Augen~

Lisa and Erik both stared at Don Jacob Travers in wonder, anxiety, and amazement, all mixed into one. Their father, now First Lieutenant Travers, stood there in the middle of the airport surrounded by a group of hungry reporters. Lisa and Erik had not expected to be beaten by the media in meeting their returning father. They did know he was a kind of a local war hero now, just not in the way the reporters that now stuck to him like flies to fly paper. They had gotten the news that Private Don Travers had executed a tactical maneuver on the enemy under extreme duress and heavy fire on night at midnight and had saved ninety-two men from certain death and capture.

So Lisa wasn't surprised if a few local reporters met him once he came home. But these weren't 'a few local reporters'. She recognized several big newspaper brands and one or two national television names in the crowd that was slowly accumulating around the Travers' children's father.

"What the heck is this?" Erik sighed, staring at the group of rabid, shouting, and clawing men and women pointing mics and recorders and even cellphones into the center of the circle.

"I think our dad's famous now."

Erik snapped, "I can see that; you don't think I can see that?"

Lisa huffed, "Then why did you ask?"

Erik titled his head, his gaze fixed forward at the scene. "I meant it to be rhetorical."

Inside the hullabaloo that was the mass of people swarming around their father, Lisa could make out in between two heads of reporters the side of Don Travers' head. She could see his lighthearted expression, a subtle easiness as he soaked in the attention while at the same time a small grimace creasing his brows and the corners of mouth as he spoke. Lisa knew her dad hated attention, he tried avoiding it at all cost if possible. And right now, through the sliver of humanity Lisa was looking through, she knew her father wanted to be anywhere but the center of attention.

"Maybe we should get in there." Erik shouted over the din inside the airport.

Lisa shook her head, pulling her brother's wheelchair back a bit. "That would be a bad idea. I think we should wait here."

"Wait here? And be discovered?" Erik replied.

Before Lisa open her mouth, she spotted a blonde female reporter turn away from the huddled mass and make eye contact with her. She looked away, and then turned back again. Lisa watched recognition burn brightly in the reporter's eyes, and so did Erik.

He whispered, "I think we'd better go now, sis."

Without looking any further at the amassing mob of lipstick and cologne, Lisa turned on a dime, carting away her invalid brother. Right now the destination seemed unclear to her, but anywhere near their father and the crowd was good enough for her. But she delayed too much.

Lisa heard a shout echo out. "It's the Lieutenant's kids!"

She didn't turn around.

Erik's voice: "What are you waiting for, go!"

Reporter: "They're over there!"

Lisa kept on walking, her back was straight and her shoulders squared. A trepidatious gleam swam in her gaze as she stared at her finish line: a corner around the bathroom. She never made it there. A male reporter in a flashy blue suit sidestepped into her trundling path. Lisa would have wasted no time barging right through the man who was fumbling with a boxy sound recorder and mic, but the several tens of rustling and jostling from behind notified her that there were witnesses. Instead, she parked the wheelchair, looked down briefly at her shoes. Dirty jeans. She forgot to change them before going out. Wrinkled shirt. How did a mustard stain get there?

The questions began rolling in. One spouted directly behind her, so close to her ear that Lisa whisked around. She was nose to nose with a mic the size of tennis ball. Everything began to blur together into one linear, flashing, whirlwind that seemed to raze all of Lisa's mental faculties. All she could do was discern audible questions and answer them in five second sound bites.

"What are your thoughts on your father earning the Silver Star Medal, Ms. Travers?"

Lisa coughed, then answered, "Silver star? What?"

Next question hit Lisa in her right ear. Ten feet away.

"How do you feel about your father returning home?"

Lisa swallowed down an anxious bout, then replied. "I think it's great, now that he's finally home, now that the war's over. But mostly I-"

But that was as far as she got.

A man dressed in a beat-up gray corduroy jacket and color matched jeans stepped through the bright lights and into Lisa's point of view. It was hard to make out his face; photographer's flashbulbs darkened the details of his head. He held nothing in his hands.

"Be careful of your father. He's not in his right mind." The statement was quick and shouted in a clear voice.

Lisa gulped, frowning. She heard a gasp from a female to her left. "What did he say?"

Just before Lisa's vision cleared away, the man in the corduroy jacket turned and began walking away, slicing his way through the wall of reporters. Before he disappeared and the wall was repaired, Lisa could hear his clear, unaccented voice lilt through the low murmur in the crowd.

"Say hello to Don for me."

Lisa held up her hand, as if she could extend her reach and pull the mysterious man back to herself in the middle of the crowd.

She called out. "Wait! Who are you?"
The man in the jacket replied. "I'll be seeing you soon."

Then the wound in the wall of reporters closed behind the man.

He was gone.

"Who was that guy?" Lisa heard Erik over the din. Lisa shook her head slowly, still staring at the spot where the man had parted the wall of reporters. She whispered quietly, "I don't know."