I made it to the gate in plenty of time, but all the seats were already taken. I decided it was not a bad idea to stand anyway, so I stepped just off the carpeted area onto the dull linoleum of the wide corridor full of people coming and going, some of them slowly sauntering and others sprinting, panting and sweating, panicked, to make it before the door shut and they would be left to the harrowing ordeal of arranging a different flight. There were other people also standing there waiting for boarding to begin; some alone engaged with their phones, others chatting in small clusters, a mom with her toddler playing a kind of chase game in a small circle that made me smile.
I suddenly became aware of a man in a dark pink polo shirt talking with someone on the phone. I realized that person was in the airport somewhere and he was trying to tell them where he was in the sprawling center of global transit.
I began to wonder and imagine who this beloved person might be? Then he mentioned how they must be in the glass walkway now. He laughed at something enthusiastically. I became more and more intrigued, and was now looking forward to seeing this mysterious person perhaps nearly as much as the man in the dark pink shirt.
Possibilities flooded in. Something in me thought they must be a woman, by the tone of his voice, the way he laughed, how he wanted to be right there with her until they would finally see each other from some distance away, waving at each other. Could she be his wife, daughter, sister, new love, old flame, long time friend and confidant? I cheered internally for new love.
That would be maximum theater, pure passion, and I relished the thought of witnessing such a scene. Guess what color shirt I am wearing. His shirt is dark pink, now hurry up and get over here so I can see the passionate climax of this story! He mentioned we would be boarding soon, and something about how it was up to her if she had time.
