Page 2 of Reconnected Hearts
I look up as a shadow passes through the window and realize we’ve driven under the bridge that separates the west and east sides of the airport. Relief washes over me, knowing that I can finally end this conversation and escape the suffocating tension. But as I prepare to say goodbye, a pang of guilt twists in my chest.
I know I should make more of an effort to connect with my mother, to be patient and understanding even when she's overbearing. She means well, after all. But the thought of delving into another lengthy discussion, rehashing the same old arguments and frustrations, leaves me feeling drained and anxious.
I take a deep breath, trying to push down the guilt that threatens to consume me. I wish I could find the right words to bridge the gap between us, to make her understand that I need space to navigate my own life. But for now, all I can manage is a quick goodbye.
“Be careful, Lucia, and do not buy any of that airport coffee. I’ve heard they lace it with?—”
“Listen, Ma, I’m almost at check-in, so I gotta go. I’ll text you when I land in Maryland. Love you.”
I end the call before my mother can say anything else and tuck my phone securely away in my carry-on bag just as the taxi jolts to a sudden stop. I have to brace myself against the passenger seat to stop from flying forward. My hair flies into my face, and I brush it back while sparing an annoyed half-glare to the driver, who stares right back with eyes void of any compassion.
I throw my carry-on over my shoulder and shimmy out of the stained, narrow backseat, making me grateful I chose to wear jeans instead of a skirt. I slam the door behind me and hurry around to the trunk to collect my suitcase because I am not entirely confident that my pessimistic driver won’t leave with it. Once I am standing securely on the sidewalk with what I hope is all of my things, I watch the yellow cab squeal back into the flow of traffic and zoom off, weaving in and out of the rows of cars until it disappears from sight. I wish the man a silent farewell and march through the automatic sliding doors.
My suitcase clicks and clacks rhythmically against the tiled floor as I follow the signs that eventually lead to a long, beige desk where several pristine attendants are collecting bags and printing out boarding passes. I get through without any notable issues and wait my turn in the pleasantly short security line. I don’t even have to take off my shoes when I go through the metal detector, and I can feel my mood brightening. Perhaps my luck has turned around.
Checking my watch, I find that I got through airport procedures much quicker than expected, and I have three hours to spare before my plane is set to board. I decide to locate my gate and find a nice, quiet corner to relax with a book and unwind from my hectic morning.
As I rummage through my bag, my fingers brush against the familiar, worn cover of my favorite novel,Little Women. A wave of warmth and nostalgia washes over me as I pull it out, running my fingertips over the faded gold lettering on the spine. This battered hardcover was a gift from my grandmother on my eighth birthday, and it has been my constant companion ever since.
Grandma always understood me in a way that no one else did. She saw past my tough exterior and recognized the dreamer within. On lazy summer afternoons, we would sit together on her porch swing, sipping lemonade and discussing the adventures of the March sisters. She taught me that it was okay to be different, to chase my ambitions and to stand up for what I believed in, just like Jo March.
Even now, years after Grandma's passing, I can still hear her gentle voice guiding me through life's challenges. Whenever I feel lost or overwhelmed, I turn to the pages ofLittle Women, seeking comfort and wisdom in the words we once shared. It's like carrying a piece of her with me, a reminder that I am loved.
I settle into a quiet corner near my gate, the book cradled in my lap. As I begin to read, the bustling airport fades away. For a moment, all the stress and uncertainty of my life melts away, replaced by a warmth surrounding me. I get lost between the pages, blind to the people beginning to shuffle in, the uncountable planes landing and taking off outside, and the announcements over the speaker.
The next time I look up, the sun has made its way to the center of the sky, and the waiting area is completelyempty. Fear spikes in my chest as I jump to my feet, collect my things, and run over to the desk just as the door is clicking shut.
No, no, no.
This is not good.
No, no, no, no, no.
I breathlessly attract the woman behind the desk’s attention. “Excuse me, ma’am?”
She glances up from her phone and blinks at me in surprise. I’m sure I look like a mess, but I’m too panicked to care.
“Am I too late to board the flight?”
The woman frowns sympathetically. “I’m sorry, miss, but our boarding window has just ended. We did announce final boarding several times.”
My shoulders slump as a string of explicit curses runs through my mind as I come to terms with just how badly I’ve messed up this time. I scramble to think of a solution, but all I can focus on is my father’s disappointed face when I tell him I’m going to miss his wedding. He’ll be crushed, and, even worse, my mother will give me a lecture on “responsibility” and “accountability”.
I must look as distressed as I feel because the desk attendant types something into her computer, then looks up at me with the first genuine smile I’ve seen all day.
“I’ll tell you what,” she says kindly. “There’s an eleven o’clock flight tonight with a few open seats. If that works for you, I can transfer your ticket. No extra charge.”
Relief washes over me like a wave, and I feel the tension drain from my body. It's as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
"That would be amazing," my voice is thick with gratitude. "Thank you so much."
She prints out my new boarding pass and hands it to me with a wink. "Don't mention it. I’ve missed flights before, and it isnotfun. Just try to relax and take it easy, okay?"
I nod, feeling a rush of affection for this kind stranger who has shown me more compassion in five minutes than I've experienced all day. I return to my secluded corner, my heart lighter than it's been in hours.
I pull out my phone and send a quick update to my father letting him know about the change in plans. He responds quickly.
No problem Kiddo – can’t wait to see you tomorrow!
