Airport
14 January, 2000
It's the people who are leaving each other that I tend to notice first. They're oblivious to everyone bustling around them as they touch each other constantly. A finger stroking down an arm, feet wrapped around a calf, and hugs when all you can see is their hair, their faces buried in each other's shoulders. And they walk hand in hand, slowly, to the departure gate, arriving as late as possible and then staying there as long as they can. Eyes locked on each other, and a kiss, and some tears blurring the vision, a last touch with the fingertips and a little wave before one of them disappears around the corner, and the other leaves to drive home to an empty house.
I was at the airport today. My sister and her husband and their three kids have been visiting over Christmas and New Year and they left today to go back to Moscow, where he works. A long, long flight with three kids under seven. Matthew loves the airport. He rushes over to the big window overlooking the runway, pointing at the planes, "pla, pla" he says. I like airports too. There's something almost liberating about knowing you're going off on a flight somewhere. It's like you can be someone else for a while.
Today has been another hot, sunny day. It's supposed to last over the weekend. I'm of a mood to do some outdoorsy stuff with Debbie and Matthew. Actually, what I'd love to do is go buy a baby-seat for my bike and we can go on a cycle ride with Matthew. I think he'll love it once he gets used to it. If I do, I'll let you know how it goes.