Rearranged

Book 2: Journeys

After a few more days of packing, Sunday finally arrived. Jenny sat in the International Terminal of John F. Kennedy Airport, tuning out her mother's painful attempts at conversation with her father. She sank into her seat and hugged her knapsack.

On the surface, the people at the airport looked just like the ones she saw every day. Yet there was something different in their step - they moved through the airport like children rushing to spend the weekend at their grandparents' house, where they'd be welcomed with open arms and the rules would bend, until eventually, they were sent home to do the hard work of growing up.

Jenny noticed a crowd of Indians towing endless amounts of luggage, cardboard boxes and plastic bags through the terminal. They stopped short and began shouting at each other. The men pointed fingers as the women cried and prayed.

A chubby toddler stumbled towards the group causing the scene. Only when he cried "Ma-maaa" did they notice him. "Aye babu!" the group sighed, holding him tight by both hands as they resumed their slow march to the ticket counter.

Jenny barely listened as her mother ran down her checklist. Instead, she wondered what was waiting for her at the other end of the flight.

She'd already figured out India was a place of contradictions. It would be burning hot, yet she couldn't pack any shorts or tank tops. She would see poverty beyond her worst expectations, yet the Patels had packed suitcases full of DVD players and digital cameras for their relatives. People with brown skin wanted to be pale. Life was hard and easy at the same time.

"I can't believe she did that to her hair," Jenny heard her mother say.

Her father shrugged. "It's not that bad." He tapped Jenny on the head and said, "A little stiff, that's all."

"More like charred straw," Jenny said. She stood up to look for the Patels. They were habitually late, but she thought they'd be early today, given their anticipation for the trip. It would be hard to miss them – or at least their luggage. International travel rules allowed each passenger two suitcases weighing up to eighty pounds each. The night before, Jenny had helped the Patels weigh their suitcases on the bathroom scale and rearrange the contents in various combinations, like mixing a curry to get it right.

"Take this," her mother said, handing her a pre-paid calling card. "Call me when you get there, and I'll call your father." Before Jenny could roll her eyes her mother added, "You don't want to waste the card on two calls."

It was a reasonable excuse.

Jenny spotted a small mountain of luggage moving towards her. The bags were piled so high that she couldn't even see the three people pushing it from behind. But the red luggage taped up from years of overuse gave them away.

"They're here," Jenny told her parents, pointing to the moving mountain.

"That's a lot of luggage," her father said. "You're only staying two weeks, right?"

"As far as I know," Jenny said. "Most of it is for the relatives, gifts and stuff like that."

"So we should be expecting a suitcase full of gifts from you, right hun?" her mother asked. She forced a laugh, and then checked Jenny's father for his reaction.

Jenny cringed. "I can't promise a suitcase, but I'll bring something back for you guys." She gave them both a hug and said, "I should go help before there's an avalanche on peak Patel."

"I'll come, too," her father said.

They walked over to the floating island of luggage. Jenny ducked behind it to find the Patels pushing as hard as they could.