Signs

I was sick to my stomach all morning. For months I’d known about my life changing adventure to London. And for months I felt no reaction – not happy, not sad, nothing. I now realize I was in a fog of denial. Because I wouldn’t see the end result for months, I was absorbing the gravity of my decision like some sort of invisible plague. But the morning before my flight, my stomach started to tell me otherwise.

My mom and I had packed and repacked my luggage six times, only to realize there was no way I could lug a 60 pound suitcase and two overstuffed carry ons on my tiny frame. My back hurt just thinking about it. So we shipped the suitcase with UPS and off I went to the airport, completely unsure of what was to follow. I had to take a flight to Chicago first and then fly out of O’hare to Heathrow. When I walked up to the security checkpoint I was amazed by how long the line was. I was in for at least a 30 minute wait. There was a security agent standing next to a very small line dedicated only to first class passengers and when my line sidled up against her post, I asked if I could duck out of the line and head to the B concourse, where I’d heard the lines were shorter. She paused a good long while and looked in front of her at the first class line. “When is your flight?” she asked.

“2:00,” I replied.

“When does it board?”

“1:40.”

“I’m going to let you go in this line, since your flight is about to board.”

I remember her fake eyelashes. They were wonderfully curly and almost alive. She wore eyeshadow the color of what I’d imagine salmon to look like, glistening in the sunlight as the water reflects their wriggling bodies swimming upstream against all odds. Standing there against the pole, red cell phone in hand and eyes like chocolate right before it melts, she seemed to be struggling too. Though you couldn’t tell by looking at her, I could see it clearly as she thought about the favor she was just about to do for me. Often, I’ve found that those who work in airports take on the demeanor of the passengers whose sulky lives litter the air. People who missed their flights, people who are sad because they just said goodbye to loved ones, people who had to throw away their KY Jelly at the security check point. Airports are busy places, but places often rotten with the stench of dissatisfaction. People take their frustration out on the employees – the gate agents, mostly, but even the security people seem weathered by their surroundings. I’ve not met too many smiling security people but this girl, with her lilting eyes and gentle demeanor, immediately struck me. I could’ve walked to the B Concourse. I even told her I’d high tail it over there. I gave her no reason to take pity on me and I never once assumed I’d be let into the other line. But there it was. An exchange of goodness from one person to another. Or perhaps yet another sign from the universe that I was, in fact, in the right line.