I step through the automatic doors, feeling the breeze of air-condition hit me in the face. Sighing in silent relief, the oppressive wall crumbles away from my pores. The heels of my sandals make a CLICK CLICK sound as I walk beneath the large archway and onto the marbled floor. I can only imagine how cool and smooth those stones must be to the touch. Walking ahead, I maneuver around the lady in the red dress. She wears one of those business suits, made to look like a professional, but her appearance is of a business trollop, a street person in disguise. In her hand she has a cellular phone, and a bored look on her face. She mentally calculates how much she will bill her client for the time on the phone. All around, there are sounds: the sound of the intercom announcing new arrival and departure times, the faint sound of "It's a small world," coming from the Disney Store, and the compelling sound of a baby crying somewhere. You always hear at least one. The mother tries to soothe the child while standing anxiously at the phones, trying to reach someone who was suppose to meet her and forgot.
I smell the ocean of perfumes and colognes all telling stories of lives, of loves lost and dreams fulfilled. If only they could talk, the tales would be told. I walk toward the escalator, and check my watch, while avoiding the old man and his wife, walking with a cane and one of those brow felt hats on his head, probably from the 1940s. A slight smile crosses my face and I have an image of my love and I in 60 years, still in love, and still as devoted, just not as fast. I do the two step around them, "damn," I mutter, "I'm late." His plane should arrive in five minutes and I can't get there in that time, especially at this hour in the evening. I get to the escalators and hop on, all the while looking at my hands, not daring to look forward, to feel my stomach lurch forward and my heart drop to my knees. How I hate heights, and this fast moving, very steep ramp makes the memories flood to the front of my mind. I get to the bottom and let a relieved breath flow past my lips. I brush a lock of hair from my face and head toward the underground subway that leads to the gates. Standing in the crowd, I look at the doors, silently begging them to open. I look at my watch, knowing that it is one minute since last I looked, yet hoping desperately that time has indeed stopped. The scent of claustrophobia seeps from my skin, the feeling of these sticky bodies crowding me. I cling to the thought of feeling myself pressed against my love as we greet each other. The hint of a smile flutters around my mouth and my heart skips a beat. The tram arrives and the herd of travelers stampede toward us, forcing us to retreat, least they leave their hoof marks on our tender skin. The tide pushes forward. As if I were on a sightless string, I am pulled forward into the car. A pole materializes before my face and I clutch onto it, a steady oak in this whirling wind of confusion. The doors glide shut with a automatic whoooooooosss. The jerking of the car makes me glad to have this pole to hold. I can't help but glance to the left where a couple stands close, their fingers intertwined and they gaze at each other, love clearly etched on the plains of their faces. My stop is announced and I press to the front and out the doors, into this new tunnel and toward my waiting love.
I arrive upstairs, after another escalator ride of hell, and I rush forward to the monitors to see from which gate my love arrives. Glancing at my watch, "DAMN." this time louder; three minutes late. I look at the screen, desperately searching for the city...Albany, Boston, Chicago, Denver.... Detroit! Ahhh. A large smile blossoms on my face as I see that his plane is ten minutes late. "Thank God for slow airlines." I whisper, and look for the gate number. "Gate 23," I head in that direction. My cheeks flushed, and my heart racing, I feel like I have jogged for hours. I consider a run to the restroom, to brush my hair and redo makeup, but I decide I don't have time, and I know he loves me, as I am.
I walk down the blue carpeted hallway and think of what to say. How will we greet each other? Will I fling myself into his waiting arms, like I yearn to do, or will I just stand and smile, hoping he envelopes me in his strong hold. I smile, knowing what I will do, and slip around the business men in front of me. I hear something about "the bottom line," and "profits" but these words mean little to me, although I do note they have very nicely tailored suits on, those dark ones that make you want to reach out and touch the fabric. You wonder, would they be as impressive not in that suit, but in a shirt and jeans? I look at the gate numbers, 14, 15, 16 and I rush forward, hardly seeing the myrid of colors and people as I race ahead, to my destiny. I circumvent the beeping go-cart carrier that takes people who can't walk to their plane. I look at the numbers, my heart reflected on my face like the sunset on the clear mountain lake. My blood on fire. 20, 21, 22, -----"23", I almost yell out loud, in my excitement, and I turn to the gate and look at my watch. "2 minutes." I ask the lady at the nearby desk, is the plane on time and she says yes, that it should land right now. I thank her with a nod and smile, and turn to the gate. And wait.
I begin to see people come down the hallway, and I search each face, scanning and then dismissing, their images not familiar. I step forward, and anxiously wait, searching. The crowd starts thinning, a woman, around age 70 or so, and her daughter walk slowly down the hallway, the old woman leaning against the youth, gaining strength. The thought that I might have gotten the wrong flight or gate number flashes through my brain, and I consider going to check, but I don't want to miss him. I look at my watch, he should be here. I wet my lips, but my mouth is dry. And then, I see him. My breath catches in my throat. I can't move, my legs are paralyzed, and I am incapable of speech. I try to catch his eye, my gaze beckoning him, urging him to look my way. And then he sees me, stopping in his path. Our eyes lock and hold, steady and sure. I feel the electricity that he can only produce flow through me, savoring the caress and kiss of his eyes. His passionate stare bolts directly through me. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face, reaching his beautifully expressive eyes. The love and strength shines brightly, drawing me, urging me to feel whole again. Without breaking this magnetic gaze, I walk toward him, following this link, this cord, this bond to my love, each step bringing me closer to my fate, my kismet, my soulmate. The last few steps I break out into a run and fling myself into his open arms. I feel the circle close, the ends meet. I am home; may I never leave again.
He pulls me close, his arms enfolding me, pressing me closely into his body. I feel his heart race, in pace with mine, finding the rhythm. I raise my face from his chest and seeking his eyes. Without words, I hear him tell me he loves me. Without words, I respond in kind. He gently raises my chin with the palm of his left hand, the other arm holding me to him, bringing my waiting lips closer to his. The love is so powerful, my eyes flutter closed, and he leans closer to touch his lips to mine. My breath catches as I feel the butterfly light caress of his over mine. My legs betray me, and he holds me closer, holding me up, as I cling to him. His lips urge me to let him drink from me. I flow against him, like the rushing water against the solid rocks beneath. Together, we become one entity. We are one. We are love. We are fate.
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