Dear Maria (on hold)

Part 17

 The roads were empty as I drove to the airport at 4:26 a.m., the dark morning sky punctuated with lights from bridges, a car here and there, buildings, and street lamps. I liked the world this way, it was just better. It was quiet, the colors were cool and serene, the dearth of the pressure and anxiety from the usual loud bustle was a relief, and even the silence was nice. The best part of the day. It was funny, it was suicide for me to try to wake up at 7:00 a.m., but I loved getting up at four in the morning, probably because I was always more awake at night, and I had managed to trick myself into thinking that it was nighttime.

I parked my car the expansive airport parking lot full of tired cars that had been just left here to wait, and stepped out into the cool air. I lifted my arms over my head and looked up at the blanket of clouds for a moment, allowing myself to enjoy being alone before grabbing my small purple suitcase out of my trunk. I trundled through the dirty lot towards the shuttle stop, where I sat down for a brief minute before the shuttle arrived to take me away. There was only one other person in the otherwise empty, silent shuttle: an old, charming British man who wore a leather jacket and jaunty cap. He smile kindly at me and asked where I was headed.

“I'm meeting my friend in Boston; her mom just died, and we're attending the funeral,” I replied, smiling somewhat tiredly, a part of my wondering vaguely why I didn't just call Maria my girlfriend. The wrinkles on his worn face softened into lines of sympathy.

“I'm sorry.” he murmured in his old sounding British accent.

“Thanks. Where are you going?” I asked in return, finding it surprisingly easy and pleasant to make conversation with this man.

“I'm off to New York to see my grandson, he's flying in from Paris to visit his mother and I'm meeting him there. He's French.” he explained, and we both smiled. He seemed like the grandfather type, one who'd fly all the way to New York to visit his grandson for a few days.

“That's nice.” I sighed, settling into the dark blue cushions of the shuttle. There were seat belts available, but neither I nor the kind British gentleman were using them. I stared out the window past him, seeing a combination of the passing roads and a reflection of us inside the shuttle.

I waded through the sea of lines and check points, hauling my bag, which was also my carry-on, behind me the whole way. Once I'd found my gate, I perused a nearby bookstore, checking for any trashy romances I didn't already own. I smiled, thinking of Maria and how we both loved those cheap books, sighing as I wondered how she was doing. I knew she'd been rather estranged from her family, and wished I could be with her now. I ended up getting a few paperback love novels, and a turkey sandwich and coffee for breakfast. I was always really hungry when I traveled, for some reason.

I was convinced that the airport was designed to allow for no place to lay down. I felt sick to my stomach (I'm pretty sure that it was the turkey sandwich), and had ended up laying on the floor, wedged in between the cold window and the uncomfortable chairs. The black and silver hard chairs had slender arm rests placed strategically between each seat so it was impossible to lay down on them, and the ground space that wasn't the walkway was taken up by useless metal things, fancy but uncomfortable chairs, and shiny plastic tables. So now I was laying on the ground behind the chairs and behind a garbage can, doing my best to eat a flavorless scone while laying flat on my stomach, carefully sipping my iced mocha through a straw. Coffee was simply not meant to be consumed via a green plastic straw. To make matters more... enjoyable, my flight, and only my flight, had been delayed an hour. Also, the ladies room, and only the ladies room, was closed for cleaning. Fun.

By the time we were asked to board, I was hungry again, and because I hadn't gotten the chance to use the restroom beforehand, I also needed to pee. I unwisely claimed the window seat, and the larger, older man who sat beside me fell asleep before we'd even taken off, so I was trapped. As soon as the seat belt sign had been turned off, I attempted to climb over him, and to my great surprise, was able to make it into the aisle, where I waited fifteen minutes for the bathroom. I made my way back to my seat, where I had to clamber back over the fat guy. Unfortunately, I wasn't as lucky this time, and he woke up just as I was climbing over. His eyes flew open to see me sort of sideways straddling him, and I blushed furiously, doing all I could to ignore him for the rest of the flight. I couldn't possible count how many times I thought, if it were anyone but Maria...