At the airport with a delayed flight my fiancé and I are waiting patiently, well one of us is. He is trying, but as an attorney it’s not in his nature. On top of waiting, we are both coming off of being sick for weeks while trying to get ready to leave town.
One of my tasks included getting our suitcases out. Do people call them that anymore? We use the term travel bags, as most are carry on size, and usually one is checked and one is not. I really didn’t notice how war-torn they were until we were on the airport shuttle days later.
They were placed up on the metal shelves sitting quietly side by side. My black cloth next to my sons rolling backpack style one.
We left our two boys behind. It was my first post brain bleed flight. I did not want them to witness my head exploding, just in case it did not go well. They have been through enough and are with their respective mother and father, our exes.
Parallel to this my mother, the snowbird, is in route to Sanibel as we ride in the airport shuttle to the terminal. I spoke to her earlier to make sure she changed planes safely. Her first remark was she felt like a “bedraggled refugee” in Charlotte as everyone else looked so pulled together.
My biggest fear was her getting from one gate to another and her city upbringing had her worried about how she looked doing it. The shuttle is jerking along with its loud whirring sounds as I recant the story to my fiancé. I then notice his worn Sanibel t-shirt that his mother gave him before we ever met. He has since made three trips with that shirt (and me) to the island we love.
My mind now shifts to my new pacemaker as we approach the terminal. How will the security check go as we take our well-traveled bags off the shelf. We may be worn out as we begin this trip, but we are grateful to be together, our bags tell the story for us. We need to regroup.
We get through security, just like normal people, and I was not an outcast for having a foreign object in my body. We did it. We have overcome his broken ankle, my stroke, heart attack and brain bleed, his mom’s cancer.
As I am feeling great about our accomplishments and we sit down to fire up my computer as we wait for our flight now finding out it is delayed. I survey the room to start writing my observations. The first one is a woman who needs to be at a four o’clock wedding in Fort Myers. My thoughts, “Ok, here we go folks we have our first role played by the woman who needs to be at a wedding and we all will need to know each detail as it plays out.”
It is then I see our lead actress, in our “Longing for Louis” airport production. Blonde, perfectly tailored black sweater with dark denim ankle length jeans and her Louis Vuitton rolling travel bag with matching handbag, adorable perfection.
I felt like I was cheating on my bags as I wondered the price of the entire ensemble. She was with a man of the same level of style and was being checked out by the other businessman holding down the second barstool next to the wedding woman. He was very disappointed to not be our leading man.
Snapping myself back to my own table wiping away my flirtatious thoughts about Louis as the production plays out in my mind. “I will have you Louis, I will,” I said to myself. We head to our gate and as I put my feet up to settle in to write. I notice a tag shoved way down in the handle casing and as I pull it out I smile. It was a decade old Disney tag still on my sons travel bag.
These bags have our memories and enjoy being called to duty as much as we love taking them. Would Louis let me put my flip flops on him, would it even be right to do so? I am sporting a new Talbot’s tailored shirt with my ankle jeans is that enough? Oh, the decisions one has to make for love. I want you Louis. I really do, but you deserve more.
I am sure my mom will replace her purple travel bag and maybe it will be you Louis as the apple does not fall far from the tree. She is more tailored and more type that I long to be. She could be your cougar or your snowbird; either way she will take you to an island for the winter.
My mom felt that (and Tom Petty belted it), “You don’t have to live like a refugee.” However, in light of our recent circumstances maybe everyone should for a time have compassion.
Thank you Louis for the short time we had as our paths crossed in the airport that day. It was an affair of the mind and I can only hope you will be my Valentine.
Author: Christine Buyce
Email: [email protected]
Author Bio: Writer, Lecturer, Traveler and One Resilient Woman. Stroke, Heart Attack and Brain Bleed Survivor. Blogger at Over, Under and Through https://christinebuyce.com/. Life is an S curve for all of us. It is my overthinking mind that works each day to write stories that inspire us all to embrace the curves and enjoy the ride. The best parts in life are getting to and from your destination. I tell my students all the time…I am just a little further down the road. My goal is to bring laughter and inspiration from my bumps to help others through their own
Twitter is @BuyceCbuyce
LinkedIn: Christine Buyce
