Musings from Gate 27C

Airports breed discontent. I feel caught in the middle. The middle of relationships, goodbyes and hellos occurring simultaneously. The middle of the world, a collision of colors, languages, accents, styles. Vacationers meander, businessmen rush, about-to-miss-their-flight-travelers shoot down the concourse like space shuttles. Their destination coordinates locked, they experience turbulence as they dodge to avoid people like meteors with a trail of luggage debris streaming behind them.

We are lost. We wait in line at security and at Starbucks, we follow the map to our gate only to find our flight has been delayed and moved to a different gate. We wait. We sip coffee. We are not here. We are either drowning in thoughts of the place we're leaving or peeling our inner eyes for the final destination. Either one is infinitely better than the present. Utter solitude in the midst of masses. Is there any lonelier place than the airport?

We don't notice each other. The teenage girl curled in the corner. Eyes like a vacuum threaten to suck you in, yet her pursed lips construct an impenetrable wall. Tough traveler, loner. She doesn't need anyone on this journey between a broken family and a broken heart. Crisp businessmen. Immaculate suit - black as night - and wrinkle-free shirt wrap the emptiness. A purposeful power-point presentation lurk in the recesses of his laptop case ready to pop out and clinch the deal. Funny how much emptier the flight home will seem, with no pitch to plan, nothing about which to hope. A sea of people almosts swallows you whole. You are cool. Hip. Layered t-shirt, balancing an ice-cream cone and boarding pass in one hand, maneuvering your rolling suitcase with a gaudy watch choking your wrist. You paint a picture of confidence: perfectly styled to look as if you didn't style it, a smirk that dares everyone to envy you. What keeps you awake at night?