One Last Visit...

            I enjoy waiting in airports.  People-watching is a favorite pastime.  One usually hears more complaints about layovers spent in uncomfortable seats, listening to whiny children, and having bad food, but I sense I’ve been placed in a lovely, parallel world. 

Today is such a day for me.  As I look around I see busy people hurrying along, starry-eyed lovers, and excited children. What a cute couple with that adorable dog in its little case.  Maybe they’re taking the grand-dog to visit grandparents.  The lady in the burqa.  Does she wears it willingly?  Is it comfortable?  I see a flight arrival on Air Italia and watch nuns walk out into the concourse.  Aren’t those Italian nuns also wearing burqas? 

            I have a three-hour stopover until my plane takes off for Toronto.  I decide to get a bit to eat while I have time. 

            I no sooner sit down than I see a man walking towards me.  My heart does a flip as he stops at my table and asks if he may sit down.

             

            “Yes, of course,” I respond trying to keep my voice at a normal tone.

           

He picks up the menu and asks, “What are you having?”

I start to answer but my mouth feels dry.  I lick my lips and try again.  “I think I’ll have tea and a salad.”

“So you still don’t drink coffee.”

“Well, not in public places.  I want more flavored creamer than coffee and they kind of frown on that in restaurants.”  He smiles.  A nice smile.  I remember it well.

“So where are you going?”

“Toronto—I’m giving a workshop at a conference.  And you?  Where are you headed?”

“To parts unknown,” he says with a faraway look.  “How are the Girls?”

“They’re doing well, though they still miss you a lot.  Your name comes up easily and often.”

We order and there is silence for several seconds as we realize we're looking intently at one another.  "I'm so sorry--I was a fool." he began.

“And I—I’ve wished so many times the tapes could be replayed, the times relived.  I’m sorry as well.”

Our food comes.  As we eat, we make jokes about passing travelers and where they might be going.  On a honeymoon?  To a Republican rally?  No, it would be Democratic.   We laugh--we’d never agreed on politics.

He looks at his watch.  “Well, I guess I’d better be going.”  He reaches over and touches my hand.  The look in his eyes is warm and caring, but his hand feels cold on this sunny June day.

We get up and I start in the direction of my Gate.  Almost immediately, I stop and turn to see him one more time.  The concourse for the first time seems almost empty.  He is nowhere to be seen.

I look down at the hand he’d just touched.  I feel the tingle again.  We’d finally said goodbye.  And then I remembered--today was the 5^th anniversary of his death.