"It’s one of those airlines where you get your seat assignment at the gate, and they’re late to Logan and slow to get through security, so the lady at the counter can’t seat Charity and her mom together. Which means five-plus hours of freedom—hallelujah! Nonetheless, she pouts about having to sit with a total stranger, all because her mom was a spaz about the body scanner and they had to wait while a female agent was summoned to conduct a pat-down. Charity went through the scanner without protest, hands up like a criminal—it was kind of fun—standing in her sock feet in the chamber. She hustled out, in order to catch a glimpse of the agent’s screen, hoping to see her own skeleton, though she knew it wouldn’t be there. This wasn’t like X-rays at the doctor. What she saw was herself simplified to an outline: an empty female shape imposed over a green-gray field."
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The New Yorker
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