To All the Airports

No matter what time I am there, in the airport, it’s always 2:30 in the afternoon. Someone else is more late than I am and someone else is waiting longer. It’s always a good time for a Cinnabon. Or a coffee. I don’t worry if I will stay up all night. Night never comes.

I find my flight among all the flights and realize all the places I could go. Places I have never been: Minneapolis, Nashville, Tucson, Savannah, Montreal, any city in Maine. Cities I would rather be going to: New York, Chicago, New Orleans, Dallas. My flight leaves from B7.

If, outside the airport, destinations were as easy to find as in the airport, people would be much happier. A sign pointing out the way to terminal B appears every few minutes, and I am reassured I’m headed in the right direction. Travelers don’t have the time or the psychological fortitude to endure getting lost. I find B7, 20 minutes to boarding time. Always there’s a newsstand with overpriced gum and the most recent edition of The New Yorker.

But nowhere else do we reveal our stories more clearly than while we wait for the plane. A father follows his toddler back and forth, trying to tire her out. He’s worried about something, but not his daughter, keeps checking his phone. Always there’s a couple who still dress up just to fly. She’s got on a smart, neat dress and he’s wearing a sport jacket, but daringly, no tie. They are going on one of those vacations-but-not-a-vacation: a wedding, a graduation. A wrapped present sits at the top of her carry on. Co-workers, when traveling together, become the ideal friend. “Sarah, I’m going for a bagel. Want something?” he asks. Back in the office, he’s never brought her a bagel. He didn’t know her name until a week ago. “Sure. Onion. No, blueberry.” He’s walking backwards as she talks to him, smiles.

The college students are my favorite. Backpacks and blue jeans and shirts for jackets. Papers of all kinds falling out of back pockets because they are young and haven’t really figured out what they need to keep and what is garbage. They count change in their palms, touching each coin as they add it up. They have to know to know how much they have before they can decide what to buy. They don’t think about a bagel until they know they have at least $3. Maybe just peanut butter crackers.

Boarding call. We line up, file in, greet the flight attendant and find our seats. We are either coming or going. Leaving or arriving. Starting or ending. For the duration of the flight, we will live in the in-between, resolve ourselves for whatever awaits us when we land.