Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

The feeling in the car is tense; we are all coping in our own ways. This trip is filled with emotion and in many ways will change our family forever. My head is foggy and I don’t want to think about the realities of this moment, so I relax and let this sleepy battle give way. I begin to melt as I ponder the realities of this long anticipated parting.

The vibrations of the vehicle continue lulling me into the realm of a wakeful sleep. My body becomes gelatinous as I pass into a more relaxed state, this combined with a head cold, and loud music coming from behind me, have caused the world of sound to fade from my perceptions. My brother is sitting next to me and I can see the reflection of his game boy on his face, Mario Kart seems to have implicitly captured his attention for the moment. The sun is readying its passage to the other side of the world, but is still high enough to sear my skin. Moving away from the window, I lean toward the center and rest my shoulder on the backpack full to the brim of homework needing to be accomplished. I sigh heavily and I think to myself, it can wait.

I look beyond my brother to see the arid Colorado high-desert landscape whizzing past at a breakneck speed. The world seems askew from this seat today. My gaze wanders back to the car and I, turn toward the front seat. The animated look on Hunter’s face is quite comical, though she has always been able to contort her facial expressions as if she were Jim Carrey in The Mask. Audrey looks like a bobble head as she is transformed into a master storyteller; theatrics have always been her best asset. I take in this moment knowing full well that banter between them will not happen again for another year.

The slowing car jolts me awake. I see the outline of the white tent like structure imitating the Rocky Mountains in the distance. We have arrived at the Denver International Airport. Audrey parks and we all get out and stretch our cramped bodies before unloading the luggage. The time from the car to the check-in desk is surreal. We walk in, fiddling with the overstuffed luggage; the line for the flight across the pond is the only one full with travelers. We all sigh in relief as we have made it on time. I pull my brother to the side and we take a seat so that Hunter can check in to her 17-hour flight.

“Mrs. Gonzales, Mrs. Debra Gonzales, please make your way towards the nearest white courtesy telephone. Mr. Duncan, Mr. Albert Duncan. Please make your way…” This loud announcement explodes in my congested ears; the silence that was, is no longer. A couple making their way towards the seat behind us begin to drown it out. The woman hurriedly sits down and is speaking loudly in her British accent to her husband, “they seemed to ask a lot of questions didn’t they?” Before he has a chance to answer she continues on about the experience she just had checking in for this flight. I try to eavesdrop but find my attention wandering. I survey the line, keeping tabs on my sisters as they pass through the zigzag line created by vinyl strips and metal posts. Awareness unfolding at about the same rate as my mind continues to wake up.

The line is eclectic. You can tell the European foreigners from the American travelers; the look on their faces is giving it away. Peace for those going home, and a bit of tense anticipation for those on vacation. My eyes dance over piles of luggage, each one telling a story. Europeans and their choice of elegance over functionality intrigue me. There are many beautiful bags in this line made up of leather, and all very, very old. Bags without wheels or straps, all are awkward and bulky, there is not one with a spot of bungee, or any type of weatherproof fabric on this round of luggage.

Once again the couple in front of me takes precedence in the scattered perceptions I am under; I cannot help but notice the woman’s right foot propped up on her marvelously crafted carry on. A man in a uniform pushing a wheelchair distracts my eyes as he strolls up to the British couple. “Need a lift M’am?” She calmly looks up him and then eagerly nods her head with enthusiasm. The man takes the delicate looking carry-on placing under the seat, while she awkwardly moves her injured self into position. The man notes the water bottle left behind, but she loudly proclaims to him that they are “going to the club so there is no need for it”. I catch his eyes and see that he was only trying to be helpful, but his demeanor is now deflated as he rolls the pretentions woman towards security.

I look back to the check in and note the halfway point of my sister’s journey through the queue. I also see that two families have joined the line; one is obviously well traveled and the other is obviously not. The discombobulated couple has seemingly forgotten one of their bags about ten feet form their current location, A security guard quickly strides over setting his gaze on their bag and yelling toward the line, “WHOSE BAG IS THIS?” The mother looks up realizing she has forgotten her parcel, and her husband trots over, “It’s the babies! It’s the babies, sir!” The guard softens immediately and makes a joke that does not translate well: “Does your baby got any weapons?” The father is noticeably ruffled, but the wife sees the playfulness of the guard and laughs; with this giggle, a feigned friendship is born, they banter back and forth for a few moments and then the guard to continues on his way to ensure the airport is free from weapon slinging babies.

“Mrs. Gonzales, Mrs. Debra Gonzales, please make your way towards the nearest white courtesy telephone. Mr. Duncan, Mr. Albert Duncan. Please make your way to a white courtesy telephone. Mr. Gragorio, Mr. Dominique Gragorio… These names are definitely getting harder for the announcer to pronounce. I chuckle slightly as I note the accent of the voice, she sounds like a German version of the computer from a Startrek episode.

Looking up I see my sister at the front of the line and like a delicate ballerina she sets her 1980’s golden gilded, baggage onto the scale. She already looks European, in her designer jeans, handmade t-shirt, teal cardy, black leather slouchy boots, and a contagious smile. She hands over her paperwork and the woman on the other side of the counter is captivated instantly. The conversation happening 50 feet away from me cannot be heard, but their body language is louder than a megaphone.  Hunter is telling the grandmotherly attendant that she is moving to France, as an Au pair. She gasps, and I see her mouth moving, “Oh you are going to have the time of your life! Enjoy every second.”  They continue to talk for seemingly eternity, animated to the end.

Finally she is done, and she turns around and flashes her pristine smile comprising of perfect teeth, luscious lips, and dimples to boot. Her gait towards me is lighter than when we arrived and I can see the effects remaining from “Grandmother Airline”. I arise from my seat, tugged at by my brother, people watching skills fade away as I become the one to be watched. I take a deep breath and meet her smile with my own. It is time to say Adieu.