A young woman comes into the busy airport, and leads an older man to a quiet place near the windows to the great expanse of runways and taxiways below. She speaks with him, for a few moments, and goes to the counter to ask the attendant something. When she returns she tells the old man that they will have to wait about half an hour, or so, but the plane is on time, and no delay is expected. She sits down beside him, and gets out a book. The man sits quietly for a few moments.
As the first of many planes lands in front of the wide window, the old man comes to his feet, with some labor, and walks over to the window. He watches the plane land, and turns to the young woman.
“Daughter,” he says, “I think that’s the plane!”
She smiles, but makes no other answer. He turns, and watches the plane pass by. The next plane to taxi below must be the same one, he decides.
“Yep! Here it comes!” He calls out.
He watches the plane taxi by, off to a distant gate. His face displays only slight disappointment. He looks over to the gate his daughter has brought him to, which still shows an arrival time nearly half an hour away. This tiny drama plays out again, with each plane that lands. The cheerful and expectant announcement, the assumed identity of each passing plane and the mild but quickly dismissed concern over each disappointment.
Others wait here too, some awaiting travelers, some soon to be travelers themselves. They watch the old man with some bemusement. He seems much more lucid than his behavior would indicate. He does not seem confused, so much as he seems unfailingly willing to believe that each moment brings and end to his waiting. His endlessly rejuvenated optimism is not rational, but it is beyond any possible scorn, because it is so obviously genuine.
Twice, in half an hour, the plane of the moment comes to a gate near the one that his daughter sits near. Both times the man walks over, and watches the passengers exiting the gate, looking at each one, but for a moment. When the last one exits, he waits, and at length, returns to his seat, again to await the plane that must come, and must come soon.
At last, the plane that taxis up comes to the correct gate. His response is no more enthusiastic, nor any less, than it has been each time. The onlookers feel rather otherwise. A quiet expectation overcomes the common chatter of the traveler’s world. No one speaks at all. The moments stretch out, as the normal mechanics of air travel seem suddenly interminable to all that watch. Finally the passengers begin to come through the gate.
The old man and the silent audience look at each new passenger. They look at him each time. He simply looks on, to the next. Half a hundred people bustle by. A few are even somewhat disconcerted to notice that people are watching them intently. Most simply pass by, hurrying on to the destination of their journeys. In the end, the old man’s face is announcement enough for the watching crowd. He lights up with a bright smile, one which shows as much joy, and relief, and happiness as ever a man could feel.
“Mary! Mary, over here!” he shouts. She hears, and smiles, and waves. He walks to her. She walks to him. Perhaps they even hurry, though it would be difficult to tell. As they meet, they are the center of attention of a crowd, but to each other they are alone. They kiss, and hug, with a fierce and utterly tender desire to know, each of them that they are together.
She speaks loudly, “I am never leaving you again.” she says. He smiles, and walks with her to leave the airport. He seems now to be content, without anxiety. She is beaming. The young woman joins them, and the tiny drama concludes. Nearby, strangers find themselves swept up in the strength of this love, grown old, but ever stronger.
Tris
