Chapter 30 – [Friday, March 29, 2002]
Tyler and Adrian Johns’ 1997 Volkswagen Passat Wagon was a relatively nice car for a teacher’s family. The pair squeaked by on a shoestring budget despite being employed at a private Christian school that boasted uniforms like most fancy prep schools. Unlike more prestigious ivy-league preparatory academies, BCS didn’t’ have an endowment fund, scholarships, or any kind of exclusivist enrollment policy. The school accepted any student who was a paying customer. Its bills rolled in each and every month. The Johns’ “new” car had been purchased used when they had received their job offers at BCS at the beginning of the 2000-01 school year. They were proud of the good deal they had procured to get it and did their best to keep up with this hefty maintenance bills.
As Mr. Johns, parked the maroon vehicle in the Sea-Tac Airport parking lot at 8:30pm that Friday night, Jordan felt rather jittery. Not only because she was already wearing her GoodNite for the trio’s redeye flight to Washington D.C., but because the Johns’ repair-prone VW had shaken loose a bolt under her seat and caused the whole thing to shudder the entire trip to the airport.
When Jordan and Sally had been informed about her upcoming all-night 5 ½ hour flight, Jordan immediately froze with worry, thinking about her ever-present problem. She and her mother had already agreed that she could take care of her own diapering needs on the trip in order to keep it a secret from her teachers. Quickly the two had strategized that the best course of action for the flight would be for Jordan to wear a GoodNite as she left from home and then to take one extra in her carryon bag to change part way through the flight, just in case. She would wear a skirt in order to facilitate this more easily. Luckily, the return trip was scheduled to be 2-leg jaunt during the daytime so she wouldn’t have any wetting risks.
As Jordan crawled out of the German car, she smoothed her skirt and pulled her sweater tight around her shoulders. As she looked down to ensure her GoodNite wasn’t showing, she noticed goose-pimples on her legs in the cool spring Seattle evening.
If it weren’t for this diaper, I wouldn’t be wearing this dumb skirt at all. She thought. It’s Freezing!
Glancing at the girl’s outfit as she crawled out of the car herself, Mrs. Johns thought the very same thing. Poor girl, she looks so nervous – and Cold! If it weren’t for that thing she’s wearing, she wouldn’t have to be in that drafty skirt with no leggings! BRRRR!
Earlier that afternoon while she and Sally had both still been at their respective jobs, the mom had called her to discuss what sounded like a very grave issue. Adrian had immediately ben put on edge by Sally’s tone of voice and feared for the worst given the recent board vote and Ted’s position at Hope. She had been completely taken off guard and shocked by the actual nature of concern on Sally’s mind.
Jordan’s mom had told her about the girl’s bedwetting problems and her ongoing usage of diapers to manage the issue. She had assured the young first and second grade teacher that Jordan was comfortable with and mature about her medical needs and that she would manage it herself on the trip; she just wanted Adrian to know that it was taking place just in case Jordan got sick again, or the couple accidentally saw something odd and became confused about a diaper wearing teenager. The plan between mother and daughter had apparently been for Jordan to keep it as a secret and act as though the Johns didn’t know anything about it at all.
Of course, Sally was extremely afraid of Jordan finding out she had breached her trust and told the teachers she respected so much about her darkest secret. But the wise mother was too worried that if an emergency or awkward situation arose, the chaperones taking her kid to Washington D.C. deserved to be informed of the truth. Adrian had thought the diaper wearing (not necessarily the bedwetting) a bit odd but after swearing to Sally not to let on she knew about it, she had persuaded herself that it was probably pretty typical. That’s why they sell those products anyway isn’t it?
When she had passed on the information to her husband over dinner, he had become a little meditative and eventually developed an empathetic look on his face.
“Hmm. Poor girl. No wonder she was having such a difficult time at school! She’s been about the least confident person in school until this writing talent showed up in her life. Kids were eating her up. I bet that has something to do with it – that and her deadbeat asshole for a father!”
“Tyler!” Adrian had put her fork down and glared at her husband.
“Sorry Adrian, I’m still a little wound up. I know I need to forgive him at some point; I’m just not there yet. He hurt her so badly….Did Mrs. Reynolds say anything about how this started or what the cause is?”
“No, she just gave me the essentials Tyler. She does it most nights and she wears a diaper to protect the bed and sheets. It seemed like the kind of thing where information was on a ‘need to know’ basis.”
“I wonder why she called you? Were you not supposed to tell me? I mean I’m her teacher. I’m the primary chaperone in this case.” Mr. Johns mused some more, taking a sip of water.
“Well, she didn’t say not to tell you – only to be sure not to let Jordan know that we’re in on it. I just assumed she called me because she’s a female and so am I – we ladies talk about these things you know?”
“Hmm…not really actually. But I guess that makes sense. I still feel bad for her though. I wonder if the divorce and Ted’s terrible absence from her life has anything to do with the bedwetting? That’s a lot of trauma for such a young girl to deal with. And lots of times the oldest kids in the family take on a lot of extra stress, responsibility, and even blame when their parents break up like that. Poor girl.” He shook his head as he took another bite of spaghetti.
The TSA mandate to take over security screening in all American airports was still in the middle of its rollout that 2002 mid spring night. SeaTac at that point was not yet individually screening checked luggage for explosives but had officers randomly selecting bags to hand search.
Jordan nervously stood in line with her teachers. She wore a dark blue JanSport nylon backpack and held her small suitcase pull handle. Watching the bustle of activity around her extremely carefully, Jordan quickly picked up on the fact that checked luggage was being searched – not behind the ticketing counter or back in some secret room, but rather out on tables in the open next to the passenger waiting lines with pointless temporary metal dividers haphazardly set up around them.
Are they gonna search my suitcase right here in front of everyone? OH GOD! Please don’t let this be happening! Jordan her eight Molicare diapers were taking up as much room in her suitcase as her clothing; one for each night plus two extra, ‘just in case’. She knew that everyone would see the secret cargo if her bag was opened despite being ‘hidden’ at the bottom of the luggage.
The GoodNite clad girl felt a cold sweat bead on her forehead and she shifted her weight on the large dark floor tiles. Adrian could tell she was anxious and guessed the source.
“It’s crazy how the new law is adding all this extra security, huh Jordan?” She said.
“Mmmm-hhmmm.” Jordan responded politely.
“They’re kinda disorganized yet. I heard the plan is that all this stuff will go behind the scenes eventually. But right now, they are only randomly selecting a few people’s bags just so this whole thing doesn’t take forever.” She looked eye to eye with (and kind of up to) the nearly six foot tall Jordan and smiled, “If they were digging through everyone’s stuff out here, we’d never make our flight!”
At that she laughed, as did Jordan (nervously). But she was still noticeably relieved.
In the end, Mr. Johns’ bag was the one chosen and Jordan’s relief became complete and palpable. That was nerve wracking! She thought.
Mr. Johns had been oblivious to the whole unspoken bout of tension; completely wrapped up in his own customary low-level ‘travel anxiety’. For as long as they had been married, Adrian had observed her husband get wigged out and stressed when they traveled. He managed every detail down to the minutest point and got flustered quite easily when things didn’t go as well as he wanted. She had grown to actually find it humorous and she had learned to just stand back and let him do his thing. Luckily for Jordan in that particular instance, Mr. Johns’ OCD travel focus had kept him from even noticing her unspoken stress.
At the security checkpoint, however, a new emotion hit Jordan. As the trio entered the line formed by nylon straps and weighted stands, the seventh grader paused to turn back and look around the inner lobby of SeaTac airport.
“Is everything ok Jordan?” Mr. Johns asked, surprisingly having noticed losing their ‘precious cargo’ for the trip.
“Oh…yeah…I just…,” she turned and looked at her teacher who was looking back at her with empathy, “…I thought…I thought I forgot something…never mind…”
The truth was that Jordan had been scanning the stone-colored lobby for her Dad. Although she had said goodbye to her mom back at the house on 22nd in Ballard, Ted had promised her he would come to the airport that night, send her off, and give her some money for the trip. While she had told herself that the main thing she wanted was the cash, the deeper unspoken (and maybe unacknowledged) truth was that she wanted her Daddy to show up for her and ‘see’ her and tell her he was proud of her for what she had accomplished. Just once.
The slender thirteen-year-old with the goose-pimpled legs and a hidden pull-up under her skirt let her eyes pass over the space one last time. No Dad. She couldn’t help but feel pangs of sadness – not just for that night – but for everything.
Is it too much – for a girl to want her Dad to care about her life? For a Dad to tell her she’s smart and pretty and talented? Why can’t I have just that small thing? Am I being selfish? Lots of other girls get to have that. Why can’t I? She thought to herself.
Allowing her time to think, Mr. Johns finally said, “Ok well this is the line for security, do you want us to go on ahead?”
“Oh…no…I’m coming.” She said as she turned to follow.
Just as the TSA had only been randomly screening checked bags at the check in counter, by that time in March of 2002 they were still only randomly screening shoes at the security checkpoints. Metal detectors were set up for passengers to walk through as well as x-ray machines for their hand-luggage to pass through. Jordan couldn’t help but think about the extra GoodNite in the bottom of her backpack and whether or not this could be the moment when her favorite teacher found out about her darkest secret.
As she approached the x-ray belt she had observed enough to know to put her backpack on it. It disappeared into the open mouth of the machine. Stepping toward the metal detector, the agent motioned for Jordan to walk through. The Johns’ having already cleared that step were already picking up their bags from the x-ray machine and heading to the far side of the security to wait for their responsible party.
The metal detector erupted in beeping.
“Please step back through miss.” The TSA agent said simply.
Jordan felt her face flush in worry and she backed up, looking to see where her teachers were.
“Be sure you’ve taken all the metal out of your pockets miss. Are you wearing a belt? A watch? Do you have metal on your shoes?”
Jordan looked around herself rapidly trying to detect the source of the alarm. “I…I…I dunno…I don’t think so…” She was flustered and worried about her pull-up potentially being found out. She saw her backpack lying at the end of the x-ray scanner table and finally spotted the Johns out past security.
“Ok walk through one more time.” He said again.
Predictably, the machine lit up like a cheap slot machine.
“Sorry miss but we’re gonna have to screen you individually. Wait over there.” He pointed to a spot enclosed in glass near the scanner tray and called on his radio for a female ‘checker’.
With in a minute, a short overweight Hispanic woman bustled toward Jordan holding what looked like a children’s punishment paddle. Jordan soon figured out it was actually a handheld metal detection device.
“Hold out your hands Miss.” The rotund big-breasted woman barked.
Jordan obeyed holding her hands out to her sides, parallel to the ground. The woman began rapidly waving the device close to her body without touching. When it came to the front of Jordan’s waistline, the paddle beeped.
“You wearing a belt honey?” She asked.
“N…N…No. It’s a….s….skirt.” Jordan replied feeling afraid. She looked down and took a step back.
“Don’t move miss.” The woman waived the wand over Jordan’s bellybutton again and once more it sounded. “Please pull up the front of your shirt and show me your waistband miss.”
“W…wh…what?”
“Please show me your waistband.” The woman glared at her – directly in the face.
Jordan’s eyes skittered around the security area, looking for someone to save her from the treatment. She saw the Johns’ looking at her helplessly and she stared back in fear. She also saw the armed military personnel in the terminal – as if waiting specifically for her. The woman screening her spoke quietly into her radio.
“Is that a problem miss?” The TSA agent asked looking a little more agitated. “What do you have in your waistband?” She asked now more firmly taking a step back.
Ever since 9/11 and the infamous shoe-bomber the subsequent December, all security personnel were incredibly jumpy and on edge about potential threats. Even a skinny six foot seventh grade girl could appear to be a potential mark as a terrorist.
Terrified now, Jordan reached her hands to her shirt and pulled it up.
“Slowly ma’am.” The agent said, now taking on some of the attitude of a low-budget TV cop, raising her hand.
Almost shaking, Jordan exposed the top of her skirt waistband, which covered her bellybutton and fully obscured her volleyball shorts and GoodNite underneath. A large metal magnetic button held the skirt closed just above its metal zipper, however it was the kind sewn into the fabric of the garment, hidden from sight.
Seeing no bulge or obvious weapon, the TSA agent calmed down slightly and waived her wand once again over the front of the waistband. It beeped.
“Roll down the front of your skirt.”
Jordan obeyed slowly without protesting. Almost frozen with fear. She carefully folded down the top two inches of the waistband exposing the black polyester of the top of her volleyball shorts; just barely poking above that covering could be glimpsed her white GoodNite under pant.
The guard reached out and scanned the black fabric. No beep. She scanned the folded down waistband. It beeped again.
“Is there a button in there? How does your skirt close?”
A tear now streaking down her face now, Jordan said, “Yeah, its’ magnetic.”
The woman reached forward and roughly grabbed at the thirteen-year-old’s waistband. Satisfied and without an apology of any kind she barked, “Ok you can go,” pointing to x-ray baggage tray.
As she stepped toward the tray, she glanced up toward the Johns and it appeared that the two had moved over to the adjacent wall in the open terminal. They both were still looking her way, but appeared less agitated as they waited for she, their responsibility.
As Jordan reached for her backpack, little did she know that she was in for round two of her first TSA experience.
“Ma’am, is this your bag?” A tall thin mustached TSA agent asked her reaching for it at the same time.
“Um…yes…” she said.
Oh no. What could it be now? She thought to herself.
“We need to run it through the machine one more time.”
“Oh…Ok.”
The man had a tightly fitting uniform with pants that were too short and as he walked Jordan’s backpack to the entrance of the x-ray machine, she could see his white socks.
He quickly returned to wait at his original post, staring at the chute for her bag to emerge. When it did, he grabbed it and looked back to another officer whom Jordan couldn’t see – she assumed he or she was operating the machine.
“Ma’am I’m going to need to check your bag by hand. The machine is seeing something abnormal.”
Jordan’s face flushed once again and she once again felt a cold sweat envelop her. “…uuuuuummm….”. Was all she managed to get out.
“Ma’am is there a problem?”
“u….uh….ummmm….no….it….it’s fine….” She tried to recover; attempting to not rouse any more terrorist suspicions.
The mustachioed man opened the top zipper to the main compartment and pulled open her bag widely. On top was an extra rather bulky hoodie sweater for the plane ride – he removed it and set it aside. He then, with one hand holding the back of the pack near the loop, used his opposite hand to push and pull items aside in the backpack, carefully examining all the contents. She was sure he had seen her extra GoodNite at the bottom. Especially after at one point he paused for what seemed like an unnecessarily long time before continuing with his task. But without comment, he eventually put the sweatshirt back in the main pocket and then opened the front pocket.
Her first impulse was to reach out and stop him but she knew that an action such as that would draw increased suspicion. Although her kids diaper in the bag was the most embarrassing item to be found, it certainly wasn’t the only one a thirteen-year-old girl would want to keep hidden. She knew she had a stash of menstrual pads and feminine wipes as well as a tube of desitin crowded in that pocket which he immediately found. As he spread those items out on the table, still looking hard seemingly for something. Jordan felt mortified that the whole world had eyes directly on her.
Finally, the TSA agent’s rifling through the bag came to a close as he bent up from the waist holding a small chrome object: fingernail clippers.
“Young lady, just what do you think you’ve got here?” he asked with not an ounce of jest in his voice.
“Wh….what?” she asked taken aback, confused, and still embarrassed. Her pads were still laying out in full view of any passenger walking past with the privilege of passing through security without the ‘white glove treatment’
“These items have been banned by the Transportation Security Administration. Are you trying to sneak this on the plane?”
Is this guy for real? She thought feeling a little more relieved that it wasn’t her diaper laying out on the counter and trying not to laugh. I mean seriously! They’re fingernail clippers!
“Well…I…I didn’t know those were illegal on planes…sir…” she said rather meekly.
“Well they are not allowed. Ok? I’m confiscating it. You can go.” He roughly shoved her supplies back in the bag and zipped it closed, holding tightly to her clippers.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Jordan walked toward her chaperones unsteady and knocked off balance before her coming night.