Stand By Me

ocho | collision

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LAUREL   

"EXCUSE ME," I smiled excessively at the flight attendant at a random terminal desk, mainly to hide from my heavy panting from sprinting away from the restaurant. When was the last time I worked out? "Can you tell me where Flight 231 to Barcelona is departing from?"

         "Of course!" she chirped. "Gate 41B."

         "Gracias!"

    After living in Spain for almost a month, I've mastered the Spain-exclusive technique of having a lisp when it came to "s" noises. Coming here with a maximum of three high school semesters of honors Spanish, I had never known that Spain was unique in that the "s" noise in words were replaced with a "th" instead. I loved this little distinction that I mastered it the second day I arrived. Instead of saying "grah-cee-ahs," I said "grah-thee-ahs."

          Sadly, I had not mastered the art of learning my way around the airport. When I first saw the ad for a waitress job at a VIP restaurant, I had not pictured it being in one of the largest airports in Spain. For a while now, I've only memorized the beeline from the back employee entrances to the third floor sky-line restaurant. Now, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of passengers and their hefty luggage suitcases trailing behind them, I was completely and utterly lost. There was an array of shops and duty-free stores as well as multiple vending machines that actually sold hot towlettes and make-up wipes for tired, jet-lagged faces, but not a big sign advertising "Gate 41B." I stood in the middle of it all, shoulders hunched and preparing for defeat. It's been a good ten minutes since the announcement and I was losing all sense of direction.

             "Hi, senorita, are you lost?"

   I turn to face another flight attendant. "Si! Can you tell me where to find Gate 41B?"

           She smiled eagerly, and I took notice of her blinding white teeth that almost all flight attendants had. Was that a job requirement?

   "It's down one more floor and straight down the west wing."

              I was so relieved that I grabbed her hands and thanked her, before running to a balcony that overlooked down to the second floor. Out of the corner of my eye, Gate 41B was on a big sign on the ceiling -- so close, yet so far. Suddenly, there was another doorbell noise that indicated an announcement was on the intercom yet again.

              "Flight 231 to Barcelona will be delayed until futher notice. Repito, Flight 231 to Barcelona will be delayed until further notice due to extreme storm conditions."

     I gasped in relief, amazed at this surprising bout of good luck that usually never seems to happen to me. Maybe something good can come out of the rain after all, I thought, as I noticed the rolling clouds outside of the airport's floor to ceiling windows. They looked ominously pitch-black, rolling in with a force hinting at an oncoming onslaught of rain.

             My legs had never carried me so fast in my life, not even in high school PE class when I had a crush on track star, Joey Hamilton. I had never faked a six-minute mile run before in my life, but if that's what it took to impress my eleventh-grade crush on Joey Hamilton, then that's what it took. Sadly, it never blossomed into anything more than kissing behind the bleachers, as Joey Hamilton got a full ride to university and vanished from my memory forever.

              Joey Hamilton, give me strength, I thought to myself as I ran down the wide expanse of the airport towards the stairs. However, once I got to the stairs, there was a rope blocking all of it. On the flight of stairs was a janitor mopping the steps, barring everyone from going down it.