People There Waiting

When we pulled into Cincinnati, a seriously adorable little girl, not older than six, stood and waited next to my seat before the doors opened at the gate, the aisles crammed full of travelers desperate to de-board and catch near-miss connecting flights.

All blonde curls and freckles, sporting a super-thick Southern accent, and a mouthful of half-sprouted teeth chomping on bright blue bubble-gum, she clutched her mother’s leg with one arm, and swung a pink backpack carelessly with the other.

With an unnerving precociousness, she told me all about being on the way to visit her grandmother in Minnesota, how they only had 10 minutes to catch the next plane, they would have to run very fast to make it, this was her very first plane trip ever, she liked the little bag of pretzels the most, she worried her pet turtle back home wouldn’t get his water if her big brother forgot, and noted that the plane was very large but the bathrooms very small. Her mother looked-on quite pleased that I was gamely distracting her daughter from the anxious wait off of the plane.

Just as the line began to crawl forward, she asked me where I was going.

“Boston”

“So many people, going so many places!”, a curious airport sociologist after my own heart, “… to Boston with who?”

“No one, just me.”

“Will there be people there waiting to see you?”

And, in an instant, my heart was squeezed and a small lump formed in my throat because my answer could not be “yes”.

The line finally started to move, she and her mother smiled, waved goodbye and darted off the plane. I hope they got to Minnesota safely, and maybe even on time. I’ll arrive into Boston several hours late. But no one will be kept waiting.