It was a long day getting out of New York City from the two different airports. In like manner, however, we crept along in our take off lines, occasionally giving up hope we would ever be able to get out. At least in the Delta flight, I sat in a state of passive torpor as the wave of 8th grade chatter swept over the back of the airplane without cessation. I couldn't quite catch the drift of any particular conversation but the fizz and pizzazz, the jokes, the giggles, the candy consumption, the hands and arms reaching for the air and waving as a signal to comrades several rows distant had an electric and colorful quality.
Inevitably, after several hours like popcorn exploding all at once--"How much longer?"
And since it was a long trip, we went into that zone of "when-it's-over, it's-over-and-not-a-moment-before." They sang, read, dozed, amused themselves in tiny ways.
Our two groups reunited at Jackson airport; you would think they had not seen each other for a year. Adult passersby and even the normally grim men in deep blue suits who guard the airport grinned at the fiesta of re-encounter. A bent-over lady told a companion, "I just texted my daughter that I was sitting next to some young people! They made me want to be that age again!" I shook my head silently at the intemperate if sincere sentiment and moved on.
When the 8th graders finally stepped outside there was considerable discussion as to whether the air in Wyoming smelled different and various parties weighed in on whether clean air could be discerned in an airport parking lot. But Carolyn was right--even there--we were no longer in Brooklyn . . .
We subdued the chatter and managed to get asleep around midnight.
It is now 7:30 a.m.
Breakfast is about to start.
First day in Wyoming is at hand.
Cool air. A slate blue sky, fading to gray with a deeper luminosity and white behind it. The Western world awaits.
No comments:
Post a Comment