She holds a ticket in her hand while she sits on the hard plastic chair in the airport lobby, trying to decide if it is even worth it. Ethan had gone on ahead, thinking she was on her way when she could get away, but she didn’t know then if she would, and she still doesn’t know now. A shock of her now-white hair hangs precariously over her left eye, a curtain to either keep in or keep out the fear, and she doesn’t move it, a fight against her instincts. But there’s so much more to ponder, she realizes, as the man sits down across from her. Out of the corner of her right eye she makes out the movement, and he’s not hard to miss in his Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. His hair is nearly as white as hers, both the hair on his head and on his legs. She can tell the latter because of his deep tan. He has been on vacation, and she should be heading on one if she can only get past herself.
It’s not even that difficult to fathom how she has gotten into this situation. It all began with a phone call.
“It’s not going to work out for you here,” he had told her after their standard pleasantries, and she wondered why he had even bothered.
“But I can do whatever you want,” she said, trying not to break down. “You know I need this.”
“I know what we can afford, and it’s not you,” he said somewhat flatly, but she knew how hard it hurt him to tell her that. He was obviously trying to distance himself from the news, to no avail.
“It’s because of my age, isn’t it?” she questioned, speaking the unspeakable.
That’s when it finally sunk in, through the silence that hung like a drape over their now aborted conversation. It’s when she knew she was indeed too old for her life. She had outgrown her usefulness, so what use could Ethan possibly want with her? Therein lies the essence of her indecision while sitting on that uncomfortable airport lobby seat. She is lamenting her demise, so why try and enjoy a life that is in such flux? But then she saw the man sit down across from her, with his easy manner and his tanned legs. He is obviously older than she is, and yet he is still enjoying his life. What right does he have when she is old and washed up?
Her cell phone calls out to her in the midst of her reverie. The chorus of “I Kissed a Girl” reminding her that it was her 25-year old daughter who set her ringtone and she, for the life of her, couldn’t figure out how to change it to something more suitable. She saw the man grin at her as she fumbled with her purse, trying to find her phone to drown out the music that she believed dated her even more. When she finally had it out, and the beat had just about become everything she heard, she looked at the display. It was Ethan. And she thought she finally had an answer for him.
She picked up.
Sam
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