Departures

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re still waiting on maintenance to give Flight 187 its okay fly to Boston. We will keep you updated as we learn anything.” The kiosk attendant returns the microphone to the top of the kiosk, leans over, and speaks inaudibly to her associate.

     Mark Ellison jams his hand into his pocket and brings out his cell with a flourish. Damn. The attendant didn’t watch. He thumbs a phone number and texts, I’ll be late. Hung up at the airport. I’ll tell you when I’m boarding. He pecks through his screen and swipes through his presentation slides. All he’ll have to do is plug in his phone into the projector; he knows the pitch word-for-word.

      Sunlight washes out squares of maroon carpet with yellow specks beneath the ivory walls and ceiling. Blue sky with an occasional puff of cloud fills the window. This airline could be a little more proactive with maintenance and fix things before they become problems. That is a tenet on which he built his company.

     A short, portly, woman in her late twenties walks around the rows of chairs, her eyes scanning for a place to sit. Travelers eager to bolt to the Boston flight have suitcases in the seats beside them, some occupying three. He shakes his head. Too many people thinking only of themselves. Worse still, she leans on a cane. He moves his backpack to the floor and gestures to the seat next to him. She thanks him.

     “Saw the cane, huh? Usually, more people do. It’s mostly congenital and my leg is a lot stronger now.” She checks her watch. “Thirty-two minutes. A little early. My mother said I was born early and have been ever since. I guess we can pretend to be friends to pass the time.” 

     Ellison leans away. "Is there enough time before your flight leaves?”

     The woman nods. “I bet I can guess what you’re doing here. No ring, a suit. Monday morning, looking frustrated, I suppose you're waiting on that delayed flight. You must be a salesman.”

     Ellison nods. “Close. I own Arcware Electric, and I’m headed to Boston to convince the Massachusetts Bay Transit Authority we’re the best solution to produce replacement parts for their public transportation conveyances.”

     “I bet you make a part for whatever’s wrong with your plane.”

     Ellison looks at the flight board. No change. “Probably. If they’d said something a couple of hours ago, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

     She nods in approval. “That’s a talent, providing a solution to every problem. I’m Michaela. Care to explain me?”

     “They may call any moment.”

     “Oh?” She holds up and rotates the cane like a trophy. Wood, with engraved and colored flowers growing up the shaft. “Usually, everyone asks about this. I hated it growing up. But my stepfather told me if a boy became too handsy, I can hit him.” She pats the handle against her palm. “But not you. That’s too nice a suit to ruin.”  

     She shifts in her seat. “Your turn. If you guess, I’ll buy you coffee.”

     Ellison looks her over. The corners of her eyes and her smile trigger an indistinct memory. If he’d ever met her, he’d remember the cane. “A ring, so you’re married. Nicely dressed but casually. Not a teacher because school has started.” He throws up a hand in a flourish. “I’ll say insurance rep.”

     She laughs. “Not even close. I’m a pediatric nurse. I’m returning home after a week with my mother, so I’m out of uniform.” She leans in; he leans away. “I was fairly certain I wouldn't be buying you coffee. So, you’re from St. Louis?”

     “For the last thirty years, give or take. Where’s home for you?”

     She rests a hand on the cane. “I’ve been in Little Rock for the last five years working my dream job. Met my husband there, I’ve had two children there, so I consider myself an Arkansawyer through and through.” She pulls her phone from her purse. “Want to see?”

     At the flight kiosk, two attendants are whispering to each other and looking like they're pretending to type. Michaela touches her phone screen and points the screen at him. “The older one is Peter. The little doll is Janice. She has my mom’s eyes and nose.”

     Ellison gives a courteous, cursory glance. The girl’s hair curly reminds of that special way… No, it must be a coincidence. Lots of kids have curly hair. “Nice-looking family.”

     “Thank you. Do you have any?”

     “My ex said she didn’t want to be a single mom, especially if she’s married. She wanted me around more; I wanted to get my business off the ground, which was just taking off when she left. I built it into a growing, medium-sized business. I never kept a secret about how important it was for it would be successful and we could enjoy the lifestyle she wanted. The funny thing, maybe not so funny when you think about it, is that all the hours I was putting in were for her. Call family my one shortcoming. I’m in my fifties, so it’s unlikely I’ll ever have one.”

     “My mom said that after she had me—this is what she told me—she was certain she’d never have a husband. Then, she did and had three more children. I’m the oldest. I have two stepbrothers and a stepsister. It feels weird referring to them like that. There’s no distinction between us with my parents. I love hearing about her friends and boyfriend and giving advice. Being older, I got to boss my brothers around.”

     “I have two brothers, but we’ve drifted apart. Haven’t talked to them in years.”

     Michaela says, “So you're all by yourself.”

     “I wouldn’t totally characterize it that way. I spend weeks on end with employees and clients and potential clients. My business has become my family. I have two hundred and eight employees who depend on me for their livelihood. Although, granted, it’s not the same as watching your children grow up.”

     “So, you’re helping all those people. Better than them ending up unemployed and homeless. Perhaps one of mine will work for you.”

     Well, we’ll see, Ellison thinks. “Your son Peter’s wearing an Oregon Ducks sweater. You’re from Eugene?”

     “Yes. The sweater’s from my stepdad. I don’t know why I still call him that. I never knew my real father. And he’s been great. He was there for everything. Recitals, soccer games. It’s funny ‘cause mom’s still a Beaver fan.”

     Ellison sits up. “Really… I’m originally from Corvallis.”

     “Oh. The world gets so much cozier in an airport.”

     Ellison looks out the window. “I haven’t visited in decades, though. My company keeps me busy. What’s your mother’s name?”

     “Peggy Hodges.”

     Meaningless, but the woman is the right age. Furious with her curly brown hair shaking, Margie clutched a crucifix that draped around her neck and screamed she never wanted to see him again. “You’re a heartless bastard!” She wouldn’t come out. High school sweethearts fall out of love, but he never understood its suddenness. The half that made them whole evaporated.

     We were young and immature. We might have ruined our lives. Separating worked out, galvanizing him for success. “I knew a Margie. We broke up about three months after high school. Then I went to college and a couple of years later, I started Arcware Electric.”

     Still, the age is about right. But it can't be. She never... A deep breath. “What do you know about your father?”

     “Mom doesn’t talk about life before Kevin. She acknowledges I have one, but she hasn’t told me anything. Now that I’m married and have my own family, it’s less important. And my stepfather says he never knew him. I’m sort of an orphan with a family.” She chuckles. A joke she likes to repeat.

     “What interested you in Pediatrics?”

     Michaela says, “I’m a Virgo. Practical and helpful. And I love hugging babies. They’re all so precious. Just because I had a rough start doesn’t mean others should.”

     Everything ended in August. That's what he was told. “What does your mother do?”

     “You’re asking a lot of questions for someone who missed out on coffee. She volunteers at Immanuel Lutheran.”

     He ran around pews in St. Paul’s Lutheran with the curly, brown-haired Margie. In a Christmas pageant, he was a sheep and she was The Angel of the Lord. “What’s your mother’s maiden name?

     “Ladies and gentlemen…” A male voice overpowers the murmuring waiting area. “We’re going to begin boarding flight 2208 with service to Little Rock, Arkansas. The flight time is approximately one hour and fifteen minutes. We will begin with parents with small children and those who need extra time to board.”

     Michaela leans on her cane as she stands. “That’s me. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Ellison. And thank you for helping to pass the time.” She offers her hand. He stands and shakes it. “Have a safe flight.”

     “You, too. Safe travels to Boston.”

     She hobbles to the kiosk attendant, who scans Michaela’s phone screen and Michaela walks down the jetway. Ellison eases back into his chair.

     “Ladies and gentlemen.” The kiosk attendant’s voice blares over the loudspeaker. She looks as surprised as anyone at the volume. “Maintenance informs us Flight 187 is ready to go. We’re going to be boarding parents with small children or anyone needing extra assistance first.”

     Ellison waits to hear his row. He stands, but his thoughts are on Michaela and her daughter. They’re like… and a day thirty-some years ago when he promised to love forever.

     The kiosk attendant scans his boarding pass. “Welcome, Mr. Ellison.”

     The door for Michaela’s flight is closed, and out the window, her plane eases back from the gate. It turns to roll forward. Michaela has children who are someone’s grandchildren. Peggy. Short for Margaret.

     Margie.

     Michaela’s plane creeps across the tarmac. “Keep moving, sir. We don’t want the plane delayed any more than it’s been.”

     The procedure was in late August. Summer lingered that year, and he paced his warmth-flooded room for hours while he waited for her call. He tired of waiting and walked to her house. They were young. Not ready. It might ruin our lives… and yet…

     “Proceed down the ramp, sir.”

     Ellison slows as he walks down the jetway. Travelers brush by. He looks out the jetway window. Michaela’s plane rolls out of sight. His gut suddenly feels like it’s been punched.

     The stewardess welcomes him aboard with a smile. He smiles and nods. He finds his seat. When the stewardess briefs everyone on safety procedures, he reaches for his seatbelt… only to find it snapped in place. His phone is an anchor in his pocket until the stewardess announces passengers can use electronics. A presentation to review and three hours of idle time. He pulls out his phone and swipes through the slides. He rubs his eyes so they’ll stop blurring.

     He rewinds to the first slide. His thoughts are of Michaela, Immanuel Lutheran, and the wasteland in between.