Birds || Fuenciado

Chapter 19: New York, New York

"I'm nervous again," Jaime babbles as we pant, catching our breath desperately as we slip into our seats. "Have I lost my passport? Are my flight tickets gone? Do I still have my wallet? Have I lost the Broadway tickets?"

"The Broadway tickets," I start, still gasping, tipping my head back against the headrest and closing my eyes, tremendously out of breath, "are in the suitcase. So they're fine. Check your rucksack, I'm sure you still have your passport. The return flight tickets are in the passport, and...honey, you're holding your wallet in your hand."

Jaime mops his forehead with his shirtsleeve and then frowns, looking down at his left hand, where, sure enough, there is a leather-bound wallet, complete with a little metal bird symbol on the corner. "Oh. So I am."

Slowly, my breathing rate starts to come down to normal, and then, when I'm no longer convinced I'm going to pass out, I start to laugh. "I can't believe that just happened."

"I'm so sorry," Jaime gushes as he starts laughing too. "I didn't read the times properly, I thought we had an hour and a half."

"Well, it was more exciting this way," I chuckle, finally regaining my breath and exhaling slowly as the plane starts to taxi.

The flight to New York has a changeover at Denver, which is where we are now - only the flight from Denver takes off half an hour from the landing of the San Diego flight; something we had overlooked in our trip planning, thinking it was an hour and a half instead. Oh, the shock when he double checked the flight tickets and suddenly noticed we had twenty minutes until the plane was due to leave - digging up whatever athletic skills I once possessed in high school (which weren't really that plentiful, to be completely honest), we sprinted for the gate; which, of course, happened to be on the other side of the airport.

Thankfully, we made it just before the gate closed - the last people on the plane, we managed to stagger to our seats and stow away our carry ons, and now, here we sit, full of lactic acid and giddy from the run.

Jaime finds his passport and the return flight tickets easily, and that brief flare of anxiety dies down. The flight is only three quarters of an hour, but it's currently four o'clock in the morning here in Denver and we've been travelling all night, so I unwrap the soft, brown blanket the flight has provided and wrap my Hufflepuff scarf tighter around me and pull the matching beanie down a little further. Recovered from the sudden burst of activity, I wait until the plane is in the air for me to drape the blanket over the pair of us and place the pillow in the middle of the headrests between us. We sit on a row of three but it appears the seat is not taken, so whilst Jaime takes the window, I take the middle, and we lean against each other freely. I'm sure at one point, the air hostess asks if we want any tea or coffee, but I'm already too far out of it to answer, so Jaime, bravely, pipes up for me and tells her no thank you, stuttering a little on the sudden interaction, but handling it admirably.

As much as I'd like to natter joyfully on this last leg of our journey, I decide it would be more beneficial for me to just close my eyes. Perhaps not sleep, but just rest my eyes for a moment.

I wake up again three hours and fifteen minutes later. Jaime wakes me up as the announcement comes on over the system that we will shortly be landing at John F. Kennedy International Airport, and as the plane begins to descend from above the clouds and the cityscape of Now York City becomes visible. It's snowing.

* * * * *

It was a good idea to bring layers, I say to myself as we wander around Central Park, feet crunching on the salt and grit that has been sprinkled on the walkways to soak up the snow.

Only the walkways, mind you, to avoid people slipping. Everywhere else, the snow is lying crisp and soft and fluffy. It settles on the grassy ground, tired and peaceful, each snowflake nestled into the other, glistening as if they were millions of miniscule diamonds. I live in Southern California; you don't often, if ever, get snow. Not in winter, even, when the temperature gets lowest. The most you get then is mizzly, drizzly rain.