The plan was to carry Louise in a pocket through airport security and then in a

small box in my carry-on for the flight. Tucked into my skirt, she functioned much

like those medieval self-mortification devices, leaving a thatch of scratches where

she bounced against me as I walked. Though palsied with anxiety, I got through the

metal detectors and managed to replace hedgehog in bag; when they scanned my

ticket at the gate, though, a red light flashed and the stewardess took me aside. "We

can't let you through," she explained. "Someone called for you."

She pulled out her own cell phone and dialed, then handed me the phone without

preface. “In English?” I asked her, in Korean. Then a tentative “Hello?”

It was my conspirator in international hedgehog smuggling, Jaewon. "I just

remembered, they'll do another bag search right before you board the plane.

Tell the stewardess you have to check your email right now, then run to the bathroom

and put Louise back in your pocket." Roger!

I was trailed to the internet kiosk by an unnervingly tall security guard who watched

over my shoulder as I began typing. I went to Yale mail; there was one new message,

spam that I read with a brow furrowed to suggest tremendous concentration. The

guard paid no attention to the performance, but had noticed one thing.

"Yale student, eh?" In this land of rampant credentialism, there is no better guarantee

of worth than an Ivy League association.

I smiled and bowed a little and confirmed that I was one of America's best and brightest.

Our little breach of the professional relationship between guard and suspect was enough

to disarm him, and he got chatty. I explained that I was going home for a wedding, and

then, as if it were nothing, asked if I could go to the bathroom. He grinned in assent. I dashed.

With unsteady hands I extracted the wicked creature from my carry-on and replaced her

in my pocket. For anyone paying attention, my leg appeared to have a wandering goiter.

The second baggage check was summarily cleared, but I was left without an opportunity to

put Louise back in my carry-on, so crowded was the plane and so unwieldy had she become

in her annoyance. I was in a middle seat, there was no time to go to the lavatory, etc. So I

carried her in my lap for the entire 14 hours, incurring bites and claw-marks and terrible-smelling

stains in the process. Seated between an elderly Chinese woman (who began speaking to me in

Chinese without provocation) and an obnoxious 7 year old Korean girl who wanted to practice

times tables long into the night, I could not close my eyes, let alone relax enough to sleep.

The night I got back to America, I snuck out to a Korean deli around three for my usual

breakfast of ice cream cones and tea. Wandering the aisles with her entourage was a plump,

trussed-up Hispanic lady with vast expanses of dewy skin exposed across her back and

shoulders (adoption of Korean conventions now leaves me scandalized by naked upper arms).

"Can you still order half a wrap?" she whined from the salad bar.

The owner, having finished ringing me up, asked her what she's just said.

"Can I get half a wrap? It says you can order half a wrap but I don’t see any."

He still looked confused.

"Does anybody speak English here? I swear to God I don't know if I'm even in America

some times.”

I went home to my Korean hedgehog, as alert as I was in the beginning of the morning.

Home of the brave