The Delay

I let out another exasperated sigh as I checked my watch for what like the the eighteenth time that hour. A few strands of my unruly brown hair floated lazily in front of my face, and impatiently I blew them away.  The line inched forward, and as I took the two steps forward that were allotted to me, the strands flew back into my face.  With a growl of frustration, and my ever present hair tie, I managed to wrestle all of the annoying brown follicles into a sloppy ponytail.  The line moved again, and as I stepped forwards, I started counting heads. When I reached fifteen, I had to stop or I would chip even farther away at my already fragile sanity. The excessively long line shouldn’t have surprised me, especially since I was in an airport. The Toronto Pearson Internationally Airport, specifically. It seemed to me that airport people need caffeine more city people, especially if they are going to deal with airplane clerks.  Just thinking about them made me sigh again. I hate airline clerks.  I must have talked to four or five different clerks about the delay and each had been less helpful than the last. The very last one I had talked to had had the audacity to tell me to “go grab a cup of coffee and enjoy the time to yourself” in the most condesending tone I had ever heard, and I had once been an intern. If my mother hadn’t been absolutely adamant I learn manners, I would have told him exactly where he could shove that hour. Airport clerks topped both of my “What I Hat Most About Airports” list and my “Reasons I Now Have A Headache On What is Supposed To Be A Very Exciting Day” list at number one. What a freaking honor for them. A bump to the back of my knees made me stumble forward a few steps. I glanced over my shoulder to see exactly what, or who, would be so desperate for caffeine, the divine nectar. A man in shaggy beard and ripped jeans had hit the back of my knees with his messenger bag. He caught my grey eye with his intense green ones and offered me and apologetic grin. I gave him a small grin back. He seemed to be about to speak to me, and something clicked in my mind and spun me around the right way, so I was once again facing the large menu board. I could feel my cheeks heating up and knew from experience they were roughly about the same shade as the pink sprinkles on the special cancer cure donut. ‘Stupid, stupid, stupid! He was cute! Why did you have to turn around like a scared school girl? You always do this.’ I scolded myself. I hated how socially awkward I was. It really wasn’t surprising, not after being teased and bullied for the majority of my childhood. Little boys and girls can do some serious damage to ones self-esteem and social skills. Another shuffle forward and the light were bouncing off of the heavily waxed floor and into my eyes, causing me to blink hard a few times to stopper the flow of tears. The gaudy metal accents all over didn’t help my situation very much. I decided very quickly that the horrendous lighting had earned spot number two on both my lists. I continued making my lists, ignoring both my watch and the cute guy behind me. Finally, after an eternity, I was able to order my large double-double, and I just barely remembered to smile at the poor girls behind the counter, before beginning my quest for an empty table. I scanned the small area twice before a small table opened up in the far corner. I wove my way towards it, and gently set my life’s blood down before collapsing onto the chair. I yanked my bag onto my lap and dug around looking for both a bottle of Advil and my dayplanner. A small ‘Yes!’ escaped my lips when I found the required items. I happily popped two capsules before capping the bottle, shoving it into my bag and dropping the bag to the floor. I idly flipped through my day planner as I sipped at my too hot coffee until I reached today’s date.  Flight BA103, gate C44, 1:30 pm winked up at me in the ink of my favorite sparkly purple pen.  I did some quick mental math and discovered I had been at the airport for just over three hours! I shook my head in disbelief before taking a sip of my double-double.  The tight bundle of nerves that had taken pitted itself in my stomach two weeks ago started to ping and pong off the various corners in my stomach.

“Oh, I can’t believe I agreed to this!” I groaned, resting my head in my hands, not caring if I received any odd stares. The bouncy ball of nerves seemed to be turning into one of those super bouncy balls, the ones that bounce off of three walls and a ceiling before breaking a lamp, making my stomach churn. I had been so excited when I had agreed to this two months ago – I still was- but the nerves were almost overwhelming now. My heart felt like a hummingbird’s wings, fluttering in my chest in quick, short beats. I had never done anything like this before. ‘Silly girl! There’s nothing to be nervous about! You’ve known him almost six years! Why on earth are you so nervous?’ I scolded myself. ‘why, why am I doing this again?’ Oh, right, my good friend Andrew had asked me to recommend a hotel to stay in while he was in town for work, and – I still don’t know why- the first thing out of my mouth was “You both can stay with me!”. Andrew had taken me up on the offer and agreed immediately. I was so excited, because it meant finally meeting Andrew, and his fiancée Ails for the first time! Ailsa and I finally met via Skype about two and a half years ago, and we have communicated more than Andrew and I have ever since! Andrew and I have, as we both have agreed multiple times, a very interesting friendship. We met online one night on a Doctor Who forum six years ago, and hit it off right away. We argued plot and character development for hours, meaning Andrew missed some sleep and I usually had to miss sleep to catch up on my studying. There had been time in the first year or two were I couldn’t believe this crazy Scotsman (as I had taken to calling him because of all his ludicrous theories) wanted to talk to me so much he was willing to sacrifice a few hours of sleep. I had never been very good at making and maintaining really good friends, and this visit was terrifying for me. Andrew was, even if he didn’t know it, one of my two best friends.  WE traded problems and advice back and forth like ten year olds with Pokémon cards. Andrew had started the advice trading, when one night he had been out with the boys and gotten spectacularly drunk. He somehow had let himself be convinced it was a good idea to kiss another girl, even though he had been in a relationship with Ailsa for eight months by then. He bolted home right after the kiss, and fired off an e-mail asking desperately for help. I played the voice of reason and convinced him to tell Ailsa the truth, and then grovel and beg for forgiveness. It had taken awhile, but eventually Andrew and Ailsa had made it through, and I had been ecstatic for my friend’s relationship was still intact. This ordeal had led to me being Andrews’s first choice of advisor for any problem that popped up. Andrew always did his best to return the favor in kind, if I could pluck up enough courage to share anything.