V is for Vulnerable. That’s the name of the book I just saw at the airport bookstore and that’s me. Vulnerable. Alone. Many people walk along the wide corridors of the Nashville airport. Walk with partners. With spouses. Friends. Children. I walk alone.
Will someone help me, or better yet, take my carry-on suitcase out of my hands and lift it to the overhead compartment? I envision an empty overhead bin with the latch open and I heave-ho my forty-pound suitcase two feet above my shoulders. Who am I kidding? I can barely lift 20 pounds on the shoulder push machine at the YMCA. I should’ve checked my bag. So what if I wait 20 minutes for it at the Denver airport?
And it’s raining. I hate flying on stormy days. The plane ride will be like a racecar on a county gravel road fill with potholes. What if I throw up? I never had motion sickness until five years ago. I hate throwing up. Wonder who will be sitting beside me? Watch the clock. Go to bathroom one last time before boarding the plane. At the water fountain, I refill my water bottle that I bought. How could I forget to bring a water bottle from home? $2.61 wasted on a bottle of water.
“’Mam,” a young man stands behind me when I turned from the water fountain. “Aren’t you from Cookeville?” I nod and smile. “Yes, I am,” I say.
“I’m Joe Bulow and I thought I recognized you,” he says. I tell him my name and that his mother and I are in a writing group and a book club together. Joe, his wife, Wendy, and their two young sons were traveling on the same flight to Denver. They live in Colorado Springs, her hometown. I’m not alone! I know someone’s name on the plane and his mother is my friend.
From two boarding gates away, I see that my flight is boarding. I get to my assigned boarding place just as the line moves toward the person collecting boarding passes. A young couple, with moon eyes only for each other, walks in front of me; a teenage girl behind me. Not good prospects for lifting my heavy bag. Surely there’s a strong man on this flight. I look for an aisle seat- not too far back. I have to carry this heavy bag through the aisle.
Just four rows back, I see a woman sitting by the window, two empty seats beside her and an empty overhead bin. I throw my oversized purse in the aisle seat and began to lift my suitcase. Did the man offer to help or did I ask for help? He’s not young, older than me. I hold one end of the bag. “Just let me do it,” he says. His reply to my thanks is a big smile, a nod, and “You’re welcome.”
The woman sitting beside me flies often and her daughter is a Tennessee Tech student. We quickly make connections. The airplane dips and bumps until finally, forty minutes into the flight, it flies smoothly. No more rain and dips and bumps.
Now I wonder will that same gentleman get my heavy suitcase down for me when it’s time to we get off the plane? Why fret? Things seem to work out.
Filed under: Travel | Tagged: airplane, fly alone, heavy suitcase, things work out | 1 Comment »
Susan Writes 