It’s 9:00am, and we’re standing in a clogged security line at Orlando International airport. Abby is fussing in the stroller, and Sam is tugging my arm off with a consistent whine of “How looooong do we have to stand here?”.
Our plane leaves at 9:15 – most likely, minus us.
The cattle-jam has been caused by a poor woman who fell near the conveyor belts, shutting down most of the lines and requiring EMS intervention. Most people in the crowd are beginning to hate this woman for selfishly not considering their important travel plans upon her medical emergency.
I plead my case to the security personnel and to a man who keeps crowding in front of me despite his later take-off time. Nothing like a stalled line to bring out the worst in people.
9:10am now. Bananas.
The woman is paraded along the side of the security gates on a stretcher. People push us closer to the black nylon security ropes, preparing for a pandemonium rush to the newly opened lanes. A female security officer with a manish build sizes me up: harried look, crying baby, idling preschooler…and announces that the new line will start with me.
Praise be.
My mom calls my cell and tells me that the airline is aware of the back-up and will try to hold the plan. I take off my shoes and Sam’s shoes and draw in a deep breath as they unhook the black straps to let us through.
Pick off the gray trays and throw our belongings on the conveyor.
Fold up the stroller.
Heft up Abby’s car seat.
Grab Abby with one arm whilst chasing down Sam who is wandering under the ropes.
Steer Sam through the metal detector and rush through myself all the while shouting to Sam to ”Go, go, go!”. Sam panics and puts his shoes on backwards. I juggle getting our things off the belt while putting on my shoes while putting up the stroller while putting Abby in while ordering Sam to stop crying. An inpatient man behind us stares rudely at us and does not offer to help.
We take off in a sprint to the tram along with several other unfortunate travelers. On the tram I have the shortest amount of time to prepare Sam. “When this stops, we need to RUN, Buddy. We need to run really, really fast!”
“But Mommy, I’m hungry!”
Tram stops and off we take like Jamaican sprinters, little Sam hanging on to me with his Mickey Mouse backpack bouncing up and down on his shoulders. He grins in a mixture of terror and delight. I see the gate and shout to the attendants that I need to check the stroller and the carseat.
“They’re holding the plane for you!” the attendant tells me.
Oh thank you.
Run on the plane barely hoisting Abby on my hip and Sam straggling behind. I’m not sure, but I think I detect the theme music from Rocky playing from the cabin. The plane is full. I feel the passengers eyes on me as if my lateness was spawn from irresponsibly. Sweat drips in between my eyes.
I make my way further and further back, thoroughly bathing in the stares of post-vacation families and traveling businessmen. Abby starts to cry. “Oh joy,” I hear them think and maybe even mutter to one another. There are no two-seats together.
A nice man finally gets up to give his seat to us, trapping another man against the window with Abby and me in the middle and Sam on the aisle. I barely sit down when the plane begins to move. I wrestle to get Sam’s seatbelt buckled with Abby on my lap. Panic has struck me dumb as I cannot seem to work this simple contraption.
The nice man trapped at the window asks me if he can help. He cautiously reaches to my own belt and clicks it closed. “I’m a dad,” he says.
The plane quickly taxis the runway and zooms up toward the clouds.
“Mom, I’m hungry,” Sam says again.
I take a mental survey of the past few minutes and conclude that I have with me that which is most important: Sam and Abby, a few bags, a sliver of sanity.
“Mom, that was fun!” Sam exclaims.
I nod in agreement, too tired to argue. I let Abby crinkle an airsick bag and fish out a sampling of snacks from Sam’s backpack. The plane presses further and further up into the clear sky as my heart continues to pound at techno pace.
I feel the sides of my mouth curl upwards in spite of myself.
It occurs to me, right then, that people have ruled nations, and climbed mountains, explored oceans, cured diseases, ran marathons, jumped out of airplanes, written novels, made millions, and won nobel prizes…
and maybe just a handful of them had ever flown
by themselves with a young child and a baby
and lived to tell of it.
(or maybe it is just the mini serving of salted peanuts talking here)
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