Women & Creativity

RUSHING FOR THE PLANE
Plane is late but with hope I rush thru the arrival terminal at O’Hare Airport to catch my plane to Ireland. I find a board with the info that I am looking for T5. But not guidance as to where I go for T5. The first official person I see, I dash over to ask the way. There is a man already there in a similar plight asking for the same information. We both listen and stride out together as fast as we can with our luggage bonding in our plight thru our actions, not our words. Side by Side we rush on, one remembering one part of the instructions, the other another. Asking confirmation that we are still on the right route as we fly by airline personnel without breaking our stride. Without having said a word we support each other in getting to International Terminal 5, hanging onto a thread of hope that we will get to our respective planes before they depart.
Up and escalator, down an escalator, around this bend not that one, we match steps, slowing down when we pull ahead or speeding up when we fall behind we silently bolster our flight to our flights.
A huge arrow with a T5 appears on the floor and we both laugh together and remark that at last we know for sure that we are going the right direction – would that all the directions were so clear.
Reaching the shuttle train the signs once again are not easy to find, he seems to know where to look and I tag behind then get it clear we are where we need to be. The train arrives and we are in. Where are you going? South America, TACA airline, and you? Ireland – Aer Lingus.
The doors open and we dash out into Terminal 5. Not there yet. Up an escalator and then another and we are in ticketing, not departure. Where is departure? Where are our airlines? He goes right and I go left into masses of people from all over the world speaking in words unintelligible. I feel like I landed in the Tower of Babel and wish I could relax and drink in the exotic attire and sounds, but I must rush on. I see TACA airlines area but no Aer Lingus.
Ask for directions and I am sent back the way I came and suddenly there is this familiar face coming towards me and as we cross he says, “ They sent me back this way!”, and I share, “They sent me back this way!”
We laugh! Our last contact; our closure to our shared 15 minute dash to our respective planes. Did he get there in time for his, I wonder. I missed mine. But I treasure the palpable bond we shared as we supported each other – total strangers rushing through an airport to catch a flight to lands afar.
Swari Hhan