Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 211

You guys,

It all came down to me making my flight connection. 

I stood at my seat on the plane and stared at the people ahead of me the same way I watch traffic that doesn’t move when the light is green. MOVE, people!

I had to make my flight connection because I had to pick up the kids from school because Sam had a speaking event. If I missed my flight Sam would miss his event.

I looked at my phone. It was 10:30am and my flight was at 11:00am. I stayed in line until we reached the terminal and then ran, holding my backpack tightly to keep it from bouncing, following the signs from gate E, to B, to C. I stopped only once on a short escalator ride up and welcomed the short reprieve. At the top I took off as if a gun had gone off.

I arrived at C4, panting, just as my group was boarding at 10:36. I texted Sam that I made it. “Jess King would be proud,” he texted back.

I recently started doing Peloton runs and Jess King was my favorite instructor. She once told me she was my No.1 fan. She also explained the toughness it takes to wear high heels. When I’m not sucking wind during her workouts I’m nodding my head, laughing, and pumping my fists to the sky. 

I boarded the plane and was still texting Sam when I received an incoming call from American Airlines. “Hi, Charlie? You need to get your bag.”

I stood at my seat. Huh? “You forgot your bag, you need to come get it.”

I turned and faced the line of people all moving towards me. Polite excuse me’s quickly gave way to fuck’s and shit’s. I plowed through people and rushed out to the gate, reaching the woman who scanned my phone on the way in. 

“Hi, you called me?” I said. 

She did not call me. Of course she didn’t call me. A flight attendant at my previous gate called me.

I blurted out that I needed to get my bag. Another flight attendant stood on the other side of the woman checking people in. He said, “Come this way,” as if coaxing a wild animal into a cage.

I needed to run back to my gate, now, but wasn’t sure which gate I had come from. Why would I think about my previous gate? I only cared about C4. He asked my flight number. I searched my phone, periodically cursing in a way that might very well have been offensive, then watched as he typed it in wrong. Finally he read it out loud. E40. 

The distance between C4 and E40 hung between us. It was too far. He gave me a side-eyed glance and said, “If you can make it back in twelve minutes… but if you can’t I’ll get you on the next flight out.”

Twelve minutes. It took me exactly six minutes to run here. “I can do this,” I said. I patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t leave without me. I can do this!!”

It’s one thing to sprint through an airport. People do it all the time. I had already done it a few moments ago. Before, when I came upon a person walking I’d whisper by their shoulder, “Excuse me, I’m just going to sneak past you.” This was not that. There was no need for verbal warnings because I was heaving and panting so loud that people who were not anywhere near my path turned and stared. Some people laughed. Some people saw me twice, first running without a suitcase, and again with my suitcase. “Here she comes again,” they might have said to their traveling companion. “Think she’ll make it?”

How did this happen? We had to gate-check our carry-on bags in Tennessee because the flight was too full. As I handed my suitcase over I asked the woman if my bag was going to my final destination and she had said yes.

Now as I thought back I was sure I didn’t ask in the clearest, succinct, most articulate way. If anything I was sure I stumbled through my question. “I’m going to Wilmington but have a connection in Charlotte, does my bag go with me?” Is a question that makes no sense and is probably closer to what I asked. It was sort of like when a person tells me their name and I immediately forget because I’m too busy thinking about what I’m going to say next. In this case I was too busy thinking as I was asking the question, and the thoughts were loud and opposing: 

Good job for asking even though you felt dumb! 

See? You are an adult.

Why are you asking this question? Obviously your bag is going to your final destination. Idiot. Just stop talking and get on the plane. 

How could I hear the words coming out of my mouth when all that was going on in my head? 

I arrived at E40. The flight attendant saw me coming and quickly slid my bag towards me. “Oh, honey,” she said. I heaved a thank you and continued on my sprint. My throat was burning.

Back through the throngs of people—this time more cumbersome with a suitcase in tow—I did not let myself imagine an outcome in which I missed my flight.

This wasn’t just about Sam missing his event. He told me later he would have figured it out. He would have picked up the kids from school, brought them to the event, told the babysitter to meet him there and had her sit with George and Layla while he spoke. It would have been fine. 

But this was bigger than that, as most marital moments are. It was my first time traveling alone in three years and I had something to prove. Over the course of our marriage Sam and I had fallen into a comfortable dynamic that was starting to crumble: Sam took care of things and I let him. 

It was great at first. Sam loved to make decisions and be in control and in charge. He generally assumes everything will go wrong and plans accordingly (this is why he’s good at investing). I assume everything will go right, and therefore do not concern myself with contingency plans. So when Sam started to take the lead I sat back even further. You want to plan our vacation? And call the plumber? And pay the water guy? And deal with the landscapers? Perfect.

Over time comfort changed to resentment. Sam, in fact, did not want to make all the decisions, or be responsible for all our joint projects. And I was losing confidence in my decision-making, feeling like I needed his opinion to do anything, even buy a pair of sneakers. 

I needed to make this flight because I needed to feel like a capable, self-sufficient person. 

As I rounded the bend for the last push I thought of Jess King. “You can do this!” she yelled with that sexy smile on her face. “You are a special snowflake! I mean we all are so you’re not that special but you know what I mean!” I looked for the flight attendant who was expecting me. As we made eye contact he lifted both hands in the air, then slowly bowed in my direction.

“You made it with a minute to spare,” he said.

When I got on the plane someone had taken my rightful spot by the window and left me with the dreaded middle seat. He half-stood and offered it back to me. 

I told him he could have it.

—

Until next week,

Charlie