It was almost two years in the making. Sometimes the only thing that would get me to take a trembling step into the grocery store would be Brad's sometimes gentle (sometimes NOT-so-gentle) reminders that, if I ever wanted to travel by plane to my girls again, I'd have to be able to actually minimally function in society again.
As usual, I put off thinking about it as long as possible. The day of departure, I was so busy making Brad yellow Jello and hiding fifteen days worth of snacks and jokes around the house (I learned that nifty little trick from how the zoo hides food around the den enclosure to enrich the bears) that I almost didn't have time to pack.
I blatantly ignored Sydney's studious measures as she made lists, labeled piles with posted notes, and subtly researched ways to distract, calm, and/or subdue her anxious mother. Before I knew it, I was whisked to the airport, unloaded with the baggage, and abandoned before I had a chance to throw myself in front of the Titan.
Blinded by tears and strangled by my mask, I followed Sydney to the kiosk to print our luggage tags. I wrestled with this task back when I was relatively normal so this hurdle, along with being pressed in by sixty or so fellow travelers, had me gasping for breath. Sydney revised my role in this little adventure from complicated instructions such as "Can you please attach the sticker to your suitcase handle?" to "Here, hold this" when she became aware that I'd pulled the wrong end of the mile-long sticky strip and then stuck it to the retractable wheelie steering stick instead of the handle. That accomplished (no small miracle, thanks to me), we then fought our way to the back of the line to process our baggage. The problem with this line was that it far out-reached the hamster maze causing mass confusion AND, the end result would NOT conclude with a delicious cannoli or a ride through Hogwart's castle. We finally reached the roped-off confines of the hamster maze when a man decided to maniacally merge like we were in rush hour traffic. My flight/fight or freeze reactions have been actively-engaged since the lockdown...nuclear eruptions are easily triggered. As he pressed in, I panicked, realizing I was trapped (Did I mention the flashing lights, the intermittent beeps, and the non-reassuring PA announcement assuring us that the fire alarm had been triggered (What a coincidence...so had I) but if there was anything to REALLY endanger us, they'd let us know...Any wonder why no one has confidence in ANY governing body?)...oh...back to Budgy-Budgenstein...I realized that I was trapped by the surrounding crowd so FLIGHT was out. FREEZING would let that rat bastard (Who would probably go on to be my seat-mate) win so "fight" (with a lower case letter) prevailed. I remember using a hesitant, slightly-confused tone and minimal gesturing. Sydney remembers it differently. I haiku-ed it later, for posterity:
"I don't understand
how I got in line back there
and yet, you are here."
Not sure how it happened, but he disappeared.
Security was next. I hadn't stopped crying yet so my glasses were completely steamed up and I was wishing my mask was made out of terrycloth because it needed to be wrung out. Let's just say security had no problem hurrying me along although I'm sure I was red-flagged by the camera crew as a potential person-of-interest.
Thinking it would be easier, Sydney downloaded electronic tickets to my phone. "I prefer paper boarding passes," I whispered, my voice hoarse by now. She patted my arm reassuringly, scanning airport shops for a Pepsi. "We're streamlining," she told me, "One less thing to juggle." Twenty minutes later, our eyes met in horror as she realized I'd inadvertently deleted my electronic boarding pass. The gate agent, immediately recognizing the disfunction in front of her, asked for my last name and waved us through.
Sydney had insisted on buying me some snazzy, new-fangled blue-teeth headphones. After wrestling me into my seatbelt, she unceremoniously plopped them on my head, que-ed up my playlist, and popped open my Pepsi. Magic. The only disturbance on that leg of the flight was when, after the flight attendant told us that federal ordinances dictated that masks must be worn, covering the bridge of your nose to under your chin. Apparently someone concluded by muttering, "Unless you're a democratic state lawmaker from Texas." ("Mom, that was you," Sydney grumbled. I perked up. See! I AM still in there...somewhere.)
The second, longer flight was impeded further by a grumpy crew and motion sickness. This flight attendant informed us that non-compliant mask-wearing would result in your being added to the "No-flight" list (like a terrorist) and we should order our drinks according to number. Hold up a "one" for Coke, a "two" for diet Coke and so on. "I wonder what I would get if I ordered this," I asked my daughter, immaturely holding up my middle finger. Sydney silently handed me a container of Play-Dough with a spaghetti-making tool. I immediately made noodle strands to compose profanity. I then wiped my mouth off on the provided napkin that cheerfully encouraged me to "Mask up between sips." I wish I'd saved it to wipe something else. Fortunately, debilitating motion sickness distracted me from attaching my mask to a pole and waving it "Les Mis" style, to incite a mask rebellion.
Dehydrated from all the crying, I crawled off the last flight and was surprised to see, after all that, Sydney was still staunchly by my side. Her arms must have been exhausted from waving the laminated airline safety sheet to cool me for the last two hours. She'd quizzed me on my state capitals "Is Washington even a STATE," I'd wearily asked, searching my memory bank unsuccessfully for "Olympia." I had recited the Ten Commandments forwards and backwards without effort as, with effort, I 'd battled not to barf. Emerging from the concourse, battered, bitter, and bruised, Sydney smiled. "Well. That wasn't so bad, was it?" I gritted my teeth as I grinned back, "I won't be doing that again." "Why not," Sydney asked, "You did so well." "I think I have a terminal illness," I told her.
No comments:
Post a Comment