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The curved roof of the JFK departures terminal appeared like a beacon of hope as our van rounded the bend to the airport entrance. The drop-off area was crowded with vehicles delivering other uninfected survivors. Most people still wore surgical masks. As we approached the curb, a quiver of nerves spiked through me. I yanked my scarf up over my face before climbing out with Zeke. The check-in line was incredibly long, snaking around numerous stanchions, and it took over an hour to reach the front. The ticketing agents were frantically trying to get through the line as quickly as possible, but many appeared run-down as if they’d been at it all night. Their hair was unkempt, strands escaping from chignons and sticking out haphazardly. I could feel the frustration in their red-rimmed eyes over the white paper of their surgical masks.
I stepped up to the counter and handed my ID to the agent. Her nametag said her name was Donna, and her kind eyes were more bloodshot than the others, which could have been from exhaustion or from tearing up over having to turn away needy people.
Donna pointed at Zeke. “Do you have documentation for the service animal, Ms. Hylen?”
I pulled out Zeke’s ID card and set it on the counter. He had on his official therapy vest and an attachment on his leash that confirmed him as a service animal, but I guessed they were being thorough.
She glanced down at it. “Well, this is good, but where are your documents?”
“What do you mean?”
“We need a note from your doctor, stating that he is your service animal providing a medical service for you.”
“What? No one said anything about that. He’s a trained and certified service animal.” I tapped his ID card. “That’s his official serial number. Isn’t that enough?”
“Unfortunately, ma’am, no. They are only allowing service animals for people who medically need them. No exceptions. The flights are fully booked, and space is limited.”
“But I can’t leave him behind! He’s like my child. My family. You don’t know what you’re asking...” I felt the first pinpricks of panic rise in my throat. They weren’t going to let me bring him. I could feel it deep in my gut. Tears gathered in my eyes. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“I’m sorry, but the protocol is very strict.” She pointed behind me. “There’s a van station for passengers needing a ride back home. You’ll have to go wait in that line. Now please, step aside.”
Tentacles of anxiety reached up into my brain. I yanked my scarf down. “No, no. Please. You have to let us on the flight! Please, you have to understand. I can’t leave him. There’s got to be something you can do.” I stomped my foot. “I won’t leave until we’re on a flight!”
Donna pursed her lips and glanced around. My hopes soared. Maybe they would make an exception. He wasn’t a large dog. We could make room.
She pushed our ID cards across the counter, leaned forward, and whispered, “Listen to me carefully. Go home. Do not make a scene, or they will arrest you.”
I looked at two police officers stationed behind her, their guns hanging at their sides. They were watching us with interest.
My face crumpled, and a sob broke loose as I tried to gulp in air. “Please, just let us through. He’s not big. I’ll hold him on my lap if I need to. It’ll be fine, please!”
She placed her left hand over mine. “Listen to me! You need to pull yourself together.” She looked to the left and the right then put my hand over the cards. “Take these, go home, and find a doctor to write you a note. Even if I let you through here, they’ll check again at the gate. This is your only option. Once you have a note, you can book another flight. You have a week before they close flights. Do you understand me?” Her eyes were pleading.
“I understand. Thank you.” I sobbed.
She gave my hand a quick squeeze before straightening and motioning for another passenger to step forward. My feet felt cemented to the floor, and I continued to stare at her in a daze. She caught my eye again and flicked her head in the direction of the door. I looked at those still in line with envy, tears sliding down my cheeks. Their freedom was still in their grasp. Mine had been denied. I’d been turned away. There was no exception to be made. No miracle would get us on that flight.
I forced myself to move toward the exit while I shuffled ideas for obtaining a note from a doctor. When I reached the sliding doors, I stopped, my shoes squeaking on the rubber mat below my feet. Just outside the doors, a line of other rejects with slumped shoulders zigzagged in front of the exit. I didn’t belong in that line. I looked over my shoulder at the people in line for flight check-in, their bags sitting idly on the ground next to them. The look of hope in their eyes was hard to resist, and I felt a renewed sense of determination. Even if another agent denied me, I would be in no worse shape than I already was.
I turned around and walked slowly back to the line. My eyes darted to the policemen. Are they still watching me? It was hard to tell behind the thick plastic of their helmet masks. I watched them out of the corner of my eye, a bead of sweat trickling down the groove in my back. The policemen stepped away from their post and moved purposefully in my direction. My steps faltered, and my heart rate jumped erratically. The men walked faster, their hands on the guns dangling at their sides. I sucked in a breath and took a step back. As they closed the distance between us, I became more convinced that they were coming for me. Their eyes seemed to bore holes into mine. I averted my eyes in an effort to look nonchalant, but my chest heaved and my hands were shaking. I kept my eyes on Zeke, who sat next to my feet, looking up at me anxiously. In my periphery I saw their boots close in. This is it. I’m about to be escorted outside.
I raised my eyes and opened my mouth to concede defeat when suddenly a man in a green jacket was thrown to the ground next to me. I jumped and watched as the policemen fought to subdue him. I hadn’t even noticed the man standing there just a foot away. Another policeman rushed over to help haul the man to his feet and drag him outside, the tips of his sneakers dragging across the floor.
He screamed, “This is illegal! I have a wristband!”
When his shouts faded and the doors closed, I exhaled in relief. They hadn’t been coming for me. But then it dawned on me that they would just drag me out too. I had no new arguments to support my case. Feeling defeated, I turned and walked through the sliding doors. While I stood in line for the van ride home, I pulled out my phone and called my mom.
“Mom? I’m at the airport, but they won’t let me bring Zeke because he’s not my service animal. They said I need a doctor’s note stating my medical condition.”
“Oh no! Oh my god! Karis, you have to leave him!” she said frantically.
“Mom! I can’t leave him! You know I can’t!”
“Karis, I know this is hard, but listen to me. Take him home and leave out a bunch of food. Then go back to the airport and get on a flight,” she pleaded.
Tears streamed down my face while masked faces watched me. My voice was thick with anguish as I stared at Zeke’s brown eyes and floppy ears, both raised in concern. “I’m sorry, Mom. I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m looking at him right now, and I don’t have it in me. It would kill me. He’d be all alone for who knows how long!” My mind was filled with images of him alone in my apartment, emaciated, dehydrated, and lonely, his glorious fluffy white fur falling out in patches due to malnutrition.
“Karis, you can’t stay there! You don’t know what will happen—we could lose you!” Her voice was shrill, and I felt her desperation.
It broke my heart, but it didn’t sway me. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t leave him. Please forgive me, Mom. I don’t know what else to do! I won’t be able to live with myself if I leave him behind. I just can’t do it.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear, and as I was about to hang up, I heard her screaming, “Karis! Karis, leave him behind! Go back to the airport!”
I was still crying when the van came, and I hadn’t stopped by the time the man put my bags on the sidewalk. I watched in a daze as he stepped back into the van and drove away. I walked Zeke and my bags back into the building. Zeke was looking at me, confused—he didn’t understand what had just happened or what I’d given up for him. But I knew I’d made the right decision.
My mom had been calling constantly since I hung up, but I’d turned off the ringer. I picked up my phone and saw ten missed calls. There was nothing she could have said to change my mind, and I knew that she knew as much. She knew exactly who I was, she knew how much I loved animals, and she knew how important Zeke was to me.
I’d fallen in love the minute I laid eyes on him. He was six weeks old and the cutest thing I’d ever seen, a small white puffball of fur with two little dark eyes peeking out. Zeke and I ate together, slept together, and even watched TV together—he preferred horror movies too. He was my other half, my support system, my closest friend. There was never a possibility of leaving him behind.
But knowing this didn’t diminish the fear of what lay ahead. I catalogued my options, anxious to start calling people for a doctor’s note, but I had to call my mom back. I’d never hung up on her before, and it made me uncomfortable. I waited half an hour, texting some acquaintances to ask if they knew a doctor, and finally called my mom back.
“Hi,” I said quietly, taking a bottle of Woodford whiskey out of my liquor cabinet and adding a healthy pour into a glass tumbler.
“You aren’t calling me from the airport, are you?”
“No.”
“Dammit, Karis! It’s just a dog! You could have just given yourself a death sentence. Do you understand what you’ve done?”
She was crying, and I felt unbelievably guilty but resolute at the same time. I took a big gulp from my glass. “I’m sorry, but you know there wasn’t another option. You know I could never have left him. He’s not just a dog, and you know it.” I said this with such resolve that it left no room for misunderstanding.
She sighed, and I heard her sniffling as she cried. I gave her the space. “Well, there’s no use in arguing about it now. What can we do?” she asked.
“I really don’t know. I’m going to call the number on the website and beg. I don’t think it’ll do any good, but I’ve got to try. Do we know any doctors who could write me a note? That’s all I need.”
After a pause she said, “I don’t think so, but I’ll start calling around.” She took a deep breath. “I need a drink.”
I looked at the whiskey in my hand. “I’m way ahead of you there.”