Not San Antonio
Sunday, November 23, 2008
This is what I had: New shoes and a turquoise dress. My head filled with the fine craftsmanship of my fellow would-be ALAN panelists. My camera, for I've always wanted to see San Antonio. Two books for the plane. A bag of M&Ms.
This is what happened: The computers aren't working well at the A 12 terminal of the Philadelphia airport—Boston flight posted on the San Antonio screen, those in charge scratching their heads and asking each other the sort of questions we passengers had hoped to ask them. An inconvenience, only.
Up next, though, the plane I am to take is three-quarters boarded when somebody mentions a Whoops. Whoops as in, Um. We're sorry. This plane isn't actually headed southwest. It's headed for New York.
(The woman in charge running across the tarmac, gathering the passengers who must now gather their bags, saying, I'm sorry. We got that wrong.)
Afterward, another whoops. Whoops as in, Your plane—the one that is actually headed southwest—is in maintenance. We don't know what's wrong. We don't know when it will be fixed. Give us an hour. Whoops as in another hour goes by, and now the terminal printers don't work and the sign still reads: Boston 9:50, even though by now it's 11 o'clock and all we want to do is head southwest. And now the word goes out that Maintenance is still having trouble with the would-be (ersatz?) plane and they don't know when they'll get it fixed.
There were five us headed for San Antonio. One by one we began to peel off. Too much of this didn't feel right for any of it to be right. That was the decision we singularly made.
This is how it went. This is why I am home and not in San Antonio, at the ALAN conference, where I had looked so forward to being.
This is what I thought as I drove home from the airport, where I'd spent the past five hours: I love my husband. I love my son. I love my father and family. I love my tiny house. I love my friends and the books on my shelf.
I love this life.
I'm very disappointed that I'm not in San Antonio. But I'm still here, alive to the cold brisk air. With a pair of new shoes I may someday have a place to wear.
