Story Central

Airports are interesting places. They are basically centers of flux. Everyone in an airport is in a state of transition. People are coming from everywhere and going everywhere else. It seems inevitable, at least to me, that with such a massive mash-up of origins and destinations there are so many individual stories coming together for one brief moment (or seven-hour layover, as the case may be) and then continuing on alone. Emotions run high in airports. People are leaving or returning, alone or together. The casual observer, sitting at the gate waiting for their flight to start boarding, can see many stories immediately surrounding them.

There's a single man sitting on his own in front of the large airport windows. I say single because he's traveling by himself, but it's obvious that he's involved with someone. He's holding a bouquet of flowers. Is he re-connecting with someone after a long separation? Is he on his way home or is he visiting her? She must be really important to him. Important enough to put up with the inconvenience of traveling with such a fragile carry-on item. He cares about her so much that he won't wait to buy these flowers after he arrives. He holds those flowers on his lap during the entire flight.

Another man is sitting on his own at the gate, himself and his possessions taking up all three of the seats in a short row. Though seats are scarce, both of his carry-on items occupy the seats on either side of him, and he has his laptop open and his headphones on, effectively closing himself off from the rest of his fellow travelers. A woman traveling on her own hovers hopefully near him and his seats, but if she expects a sense of chivalry to overpower the headphones she will be disappointed. He doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge anyone outside of the bubble he's created, doesn't budge.

Two children traveling with their mother are obviously trying to make the best of a situation that they obviously believe could be improved upon. There's nothing with which to entertain themselves other than what they've brought, but children are inventive and adaptable when they need to be. One has a suspicion that this brother and sister would not normally willingly play together the way that they are, but beggars can't be choosers! Their improvised game of mis-matched toys (robots and dolls, respectively) spans the floor around their seats, the luggage sitting under the watchful eye of their mother, and sometimes even their mother, who puts up with their play with the obvious internal conclusion "It could be worse. They could be screaming."

A soldier in combat boots and desert fatigues is also sitting on his own, his last name stitched onto the back of his practical Army pack. Is he reporting to a base in the states, only to be shipped overseas? Is this his first tour? Unlikely, if his age is anything to go by. He looks like he's in his early thirties. My only thought, looking at him, is "Will he come back alive or in a box?" A wedding band on his finger makes me send a quick thought out to whatever gods may be listening - let him come home safely.

Airports are interesting places. I, for one, am glad that my time in this one was as short as possible. It may be fascinating to see the convergence of so many stories, but I have my own story to worry about.