Fading Scars

Chapter 1 - Journey to the Unknown

Dear passengers, please proceed to gate 9 for Vienna, Austria, on flight 34557. We kindly request passenger Valentina Garcia to come to gate 9.

The announcement floated through the busy airport, the calm voice on the loudspeakers making me angrier with every repeat. Everyone's eyes followed me as I dashed through the terminal, hauling a load of stuff that seemed to multiply with each step.

Blame it on my mom being fashionably late and me being too proud to ask for help when I couldn't figure out the gate numbers on my boarding pass and the screens around the airport. Ended up in the wrong terminal, searching for a door N9 that didn't exist. 

Security guards were nowhere to be found in the sea of people, suitcases, strollers, and whatever else. I knew they saw me even if I couldn't see them. Airports have been like that since the mess of September 11th.

After a wild search, a dude in a yellow vest pointed out my stupidity, helping me get to the right terminal. Running again, but door 9 was playing hard to get, and I was about to miss my flight to Vienna and my first international concert.

Then, disaster. Tripped over my own feet and crashed to the ground. Everything scattered-my violin case wide open, the hamburger I grabbed for a quick snack turned into a mess. Total disaster.

But in the middle of the chaos, someone took pity on me. Through my tears, I managed a "Thank you" as a hand offered me a cloth handkerchief. Cloth? Seriously old-school. When I looked up, though, I froze. This guy was a giant, towering at 1.90 meters, with eyes that could make Olympus jealous.

"Love disappointments?" he asked in a perfect British accent, like he stepped out of another century.

"Sorry, just missed my flight," I stammered, trying to explain in the best English I could muster.

"It's Mrs. Valentina Garcia!" he declared, pointing to the speakers.

I mumbled something, nodding in embarrassment. My name, with his accent, felt like a big deal.

"Miss..." - I murmured. "Thanks for your help, sir," I said, feeling grateful for the unexpected assistance in the middle of my crazy airport adventure.

I walked toward terminal 9, a glimmer of hope in my steps, wishing that by some stroke of magic, the plane was still on the runway and the boarding gate remained open. My name had ceased its repetitive dance over the speakers, and a sinking feeling settled in, telling me I might be heading home empty-handed.

Upon reaching the door, I saw the attendant still there, a friendly smile lighting up his face. Approaching him, I inquired about retrieving my luggage since the door appeared firmly closed.

"No, Miss. Garcia. We've been waiting for you. Hurry up, you can board," he reassured me.

My already sizable black eyes widened a tad more. A warm, grateful smile graced my face as I quickened my pace toward the plane, handing him my boarding pass for a swift scan.

The flight attendants, with their practiced smiles, greeted me, wishing me a good morning and a pleasant flight. Surely, these hostesses were the most patient beings on the planet, or perhaps they were simply compensated well. Regardless, I felt a sense of relief. Maybe I wasn't as late as I thought. My understanding was limited, but my joy was unbridled at securing my place in the orchestra.

"Miss Garcia, where is your seat?" asked the flight attendant.

"25D," I replied.

The hostess gave me a dubious look, prompting me to double-check my boarding pass. It wouldn't be out of character for me to mix up details.