International Terminal 5 has become increasingly familiar with it’s long spacious white corridors and dark undersized food court boasting, amongst other things, overpriced, miniscule Chicago style pizza and of course, a MacDonalds. There also happens to be a second MacDonalds just down a flight of stairs at the arrival gates. However, as the workers at this particular MacDonalds seem to be visibly displeased with their lot in life and anyone who might actually try to engage them in conversation, most people opt for the above food court. Despite this, I have spent many occasions in the arrival area, blissfully munching golden crispy (ever so healthy) fries while while watching gate A for the arrival of a loved one who will inevitably arrive through gate B despite multiple PA announcements attesting otherwise. One such loved one who I would pick up on her way home from seeing her family in Belgium or her boyfriend in England, was my roommate Paloma. She returned the favor many times as I returned from France. One of us would stumble exhausted through customs and baggage pickup, only to be meet with compassion and french fries. We would then drive back to the city (a journey that, considering traffic, could take anywhere from a half hour to the duration of a flight to Portland.) where we would plant ourselves on our couch and proceed to stare sightlessly out our living room window, wondering what on earth to do next. (our window, of course, opened directly into our neighbor’s window..) Fortunately, Paloma and her boyfriend turned husband, both now live about two miles from where I am currently sitting.
The holidays lend a festive quality to Terminal 5 with obscenely large wreaths suspended questionably over uncomfortably large numbers of prospective pilgrims, family, friends, horrifyingly loud children, dogs, cats, and 800 lb carryons. (No Sir, I will NOT be paying the ‘checked baggage fee’ today!)
One such holiday found me at the Terminal 5 departure lounge, stuffy nosed, red eyed, and gripping the hand of one I loved. After a couple years of astronomical airfare expenses and a slow dawning realization of lack of common ground, we (he) had decided that this was to be his last journey through O’Hare. My heart was flying away. This small nervous man with his ridiculously high IQ, had startlingly blue eyes and a shy endearing smile that when we had first met, seemed like a glimpse of home. His overachiever’s brain, while handy, had assured him of a lifetime of awkwardness and inability to relate well with those around him. Upon our meeting, I had simply wanted to pull him close and assure him that everything would be ok. Upon our parting, I did just that. I held his face in my hands and assured his beautiful watery eyes that I, in fact, would be ok... though I knew it would be some time before that would truly be the case. I watched him in his stripy sweater head off towards the security line and I turned and walked away, unwilling to see him disappear. I stumbled numbly towards the elevator, vaguely aware of the pitying glances of those around me. Halfway to my car, I realized that I needed one last glance. I needed one last touch, one chance to ask him to stay, to tell him that I needed him and if he would stop being so overly smart, he would realize that he needed me too. I raced back through the airport, tripping over myself in my haste, so sure that the security line with it’s snail pace had not yet taken my love from me. I could fix everything, I told myself. I could turn this all around if only I could see him again. My whole world depended on it. I skidded to a halt, searching futilely. He was gone. What was my world to be now..
Two and a half years later I stood in the exact same place, waving goodbye to a tiny raven haired, french fry eating, older woman with deep honeyed skin and the smile of a young girl. I watched as she made her way in her tennis shoes and flowing peach and white salwaar kameez with it’s little sequins winking down the side. I waved one last time as her passport was checked and she turned to disappear through security. This small woman had become infinitely important as she had given me Her world. In her lovely warm brown eyes I saw the eyes of my husband. I saw home.
