5:00 p.m.
I sat on the dirty bathroom floor, knowing full well how unsanitary an airport bathroom was. The room only had two stalls and I had selfishly taken up one just so I could sob into my jacket. There was a long line, and I knew many people were probably in a rush. I allowed myself thirty seconds to be a total mess and then I managed to pull myself together just enough to keep the tears in. I wiped my eyes on my already wet jacket and stood up.
I walked out into the sitting room with the big screens that informed us of different flight times and gates. I sat next to my brother, David, who was smiling from ear to ear because of our unexpected landing in Toronto, Canada. For some reason he loved unexpected adventures. My brother was a boy with classy and high-end taste, so hotels and airports gave him a sense that he was going somewhere important where he might be spending money. This was not one of those times, but he still loved the sudden change in plans.
Maybe he could sense how anxious and scared I had been all day, but he barely glanced at me before he loudly asked, "Have you been crying?"
I looked around, hoping no one had heard that and pretended not to have heard his question myself. I could barely hold in my fear as it was, let alone answer his simple question. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I opened the FaceTime call to see my parents.
"Hi honey, how you feeling?" My mom asked.
I was sixteen, so I shouldn't have been be so comforted by the sound of her voice, but for a split second, I felt like I might be okay. The warmth was gone just as soon as it appeared, because the tears started spilling over.
"I don't know what's going to happen. They won't let us through customs, and I don't know when my flight is and-" I covered my mouth so that I didn't sound quite as silly as I already did and put the phone down for a second.
Why did this have to happen to me, today of all days? I was not emotionally prepared for the day that I had been handed.
6:00 a.m., that same day
David and I were flying home to Dallas, Texas from our three-week trip in Quebec, Canada. My grandparents lived there, but they had come to the states for two weeks to visit my family. They had planned to bring my brother and I back with them to Canada for three weeks after their initial visit, in order to spend more time with us. Now the trip was over, and my brother and I were up early in the morning, heading to a flight at 8:00 a.m. My grandpa made us porridge with maple syrup and blueberries, poured me a cup of coffee, and sat down with us while we tried to quickly eat our meals in silence.
Later, after we finished breakfast, and packed the last of our things, our grandpa loaded the bags into his Mercedes and our grandma came down to wish us a good trip. Once we got in the car, and backed out of the drive way, our grandma stood on the front porch, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, and she waved her shaky hand in goodbye. Her chin wobbled and a few tears fell down her cheeks. She always hated when we left, and it almost always resulted in a teary goodbye.
Finally, my brother and I waited in line for the security check once we got to the airport, a long line for so early in the morning. My Grandpa stood a little way away from the beginning of the long line filled with tired people. He had his hands clutched behind his back and he watched us with a small smile on his face, waiting to make sure that we made it through security safely. He was waiting for us because my brother and I were flying without our parents. This was the first time that we were getting on a plane without parental supervision. I wasn't nervous, and my brother certainly wasn't either. David joked loudly with me while we waited in line, and I just grunted in response. I'm sure the people around us could tell we were Americans who were definitely not familiar with the quiet Canadian ways.
