I never imagined the torture of waiting in an airport.
I might be able to get to the airport if I had more time, but the bus schedules and the two subway lines made it impossible. My flight was leaving at six in the morning and as usual, I had to be there two hours in advance. Without further ado, I decided to venture out and spend the night on a bench and wait for the time to arrive. Despite leaving my apartment early, an accident on the road delayed me for an hour. I barely made it in time to catch the last trains of the night.
Fireworks painted the city's night sky, and thousands of fans screamed and shouted at the top of their lungs for the home team's victory. Inside the airport, however, peace and tranquility reigned, a space isolated from the mundane, perhaps too quiet for my tastes. My eyes caught the perfect place to sit, from where I could see the arrival and departure times.
Large billboards marked the times of international flights, some of which were leisurely updated to indicate random delays. The hands of a large analog clock read 12 o'clock at night.
I wasn't the only one in the airport, most of the people, waiting as I was, were huddled in the seats using their suitcases as pillows. The whisper of a polishing machine was in time with the snoring of some of them.
I wondered what their destinations would be, some wore little clothing, and others, on the contrary, wore exotic garments, to say a word to describe them. Long brightly colored dresses with scarves around their heads in the form of turbans.
Time seemed to have stopped. The minutes kept crawling by.
As I was slowly dying from the exhaustion of waiting. My mind wandered into memories. I went back to the first time I came to this country, which teenager was full of hopes and desire to conquer the whole world; how wrong I was. When you are far away from your family and in a foreign country things are not as easy as you think. Adapting to a new language and culture takes time, tolerance, and patience. I learned the hard way that humility opens more doors than pride. Time had gone fast since then unlike now, whose clock kept taunting me in slow motion.
Lazily, I slipped from my seat to stretch my legs and explore what other attractions the airport presented. I dragged my suitcase behind me, the little wheels protesting at the extra weight they held, squeaking where they rolled. Unfortunately, most of the establishments were open after 8 am. I wanted to return to my seat, but unfortunately, it had already been taken. So I walked to where there was an escalator. Maybe on the 2nd floor, I would have better things to distract me with.
Why the hell do they always leave the one going up stopped?
I looked around and found an elevator. After pressing the up button, the doors opened. The 2nd floor was as lonely as the first. However, at the end of the corridor, I could hear the sound of a commentator calling out the premiere of a relevant news item, probably, there was a 24-hour establishment.
The symbol of a little doll in a skirt reminded me that I hadn't been to the restroom in a few hours, so I went inside to freshen up before exploring further.
I love airport restrooms, at least all the ones I've visited. They are always spotless. So much so that you feel like you're living in them. Gleaming toilets and a sweet smell of disinfectant. The floor was so clean I could reflect on it. The large mirror over the sinks was spotless, making the room look much larger than it appeared. My reflection gave me back a disapproving grimace, the excess of clothes made me look a few extra pounds. Three jackets, two sweaters, and four shirts are barely enough to keep me warm. I'm cold, what can I say? I excused myself to my reflection.
Refreshed, I left the bathroom in search of the establishment. My nostrils awoke to the earthy aroma of freshly brewed coffee and I began to sense its flavor on my taste buds. I glance downstairs and see that the minor hand on the clock is barely grazing the number one. But I'm not discouraged, I want a big cup of coffee with lots of foam and maybe a drizzle of chocolate syrup.
A guy in a red apron with a yellow visor over his forehead was wiping the tables; he immediately greeted me with a "good evening" along with a smile. He motioned for me to sit down. I smiled back and sat down. I explained my desire to savor the coffee of my dreams and he assured me that he would do his best to fulfill my wishes.
Undoubtedly, the coffee was delicious and my body was grateful for something hot, sweet, and frothy. As I enjoyed my drink, Carlos told me how he had arrived in the country with his aunt and was currently working to pay for his law degree.
He told me about the strange customers who had visited the establishment and he never saw them again. Among them, were movie stars. I found the comment about never meeting our heroes quite curious. Fiction and reality never went hand in hand. Some of them were more hermetic than they showed with the characters they portrayed in famous movies.
Businessmen and even millionaires who caught him leaving a substantial tip.
I was intrigued by the fact that he had met a man who claimed to have been a spy during the Cold War. The truth was that it was quite old man and had probably confused part of his experiences with some movie he had seen. That's the conclusion the boy had come to.
I told him about my trip and how anxious I was to be reunited with my family, it had been more than three years since I had seen them. And we agreed on how difficult our experience of living in a foreign country had been.
The night seemed short, the time dissolved between the sweets, the couple of coffees I had, and the pleasant conversation I had with the boy. I got so distracted, I had forgotten the time.
My heart skipped a beat when I heard through the speakers the last call to board my flight. Without saying goodbye to the boy, I ran downstairs in the direction of the departure gate. Naturally, I didn't forget to leave him a nice tip beforehand.
Fortunately, I arrived on time and was able to get on the plane. When I finally sat down in my seat and relaxed from all the paperwork and customs, I realized that I had forgotten my cosmetic bag. It had no relevant things in it, but I had a special feeling about it. It was a gift for my mother. She had always wished she had one.
I asked permission to get off the plane and go out to look for it, but unfortunately, it was no longer possible. I would most likely miss the flight and would have to wait 24 more hours to get back on a new one, the stewardess explained. Discouraged, I returned to my seat.
Fortunately, life came back to my eyes when I saw it coming into the hands of another flight attendant.
She explained that a very nice guy, whom they all knew, had brought it to me. I regretted not saying goodbye to him, but I was sure that when I was back I would bring him a big gift for his good deed.
Finally, I could relax in my seat again; the sky was the only thing separating me from my homeland and my family.
