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Misery lives in airport terminals, late at night, when children doze fitfully on their mothers’ drooping shoulders and everyone shivers in the freezing air that creeps in from the tarmac. Nowhere is less inviting than this modern purgatory, stark and depressing under the harsh fluorescent lights. The final business meeting and the last-minute sightseeing trip of the early afternoon seem pointless now, already forgotten as the dread of a sleepless night of travel sets in. First confusion, then irritation, then fury toward the delayed plane, the desk attendant’s cool voice, the other flights that made it out on time, and above all the helplessness that comes with waiting.
In the air of mutinous discontent that gripped Terminal 24C at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport on a Sunday night in late November, an elderly man sat apart from the angry buzz of conversation, facing the wall with head downturned in an attitude of melancholy, or meditation, or both. Lips shut, eyes on the square of carpet directly in front of him, Frank Portello gently rubbed an object between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. A curious bystander, if there had been one, could have easily mistaken the article for a rosary or a charm. Instead, it was a woman’s necklace, old-fashioned and lovely. A white cameo of a rose, delicate as a carved bone, sat framed against a midnight blue oval mounted on a brass frame. The pendant, about the size of the tip of a man’s thumb, trailed a long gold chain that glimmered in the artificial lighting.
Not a soul noticed the man and his necklace, though he cradled it with the tenderness of a child’s hand. Fifty years before, Frank had given it to a young woman whose eyes widened with delight when she opened the box. Those eyes, those dear brown eyes, had closed for the last time a year before, leaving Frank with the cool oval of metal and his memories. Funny, he thought, how even as the world bucked and pushed and stole away, the necklace stared up as innocently as it had on the long-ago day of the girl and the dance and the whispered promise.
The intercom crackled to life as the desk attendant announced that flight 734 to Omaha, Nebraska would now be boarding. Sighs of relief permeated the air, quickly replaced with impatient grunts as the scuffle to board the plane ensued. Forgetting their manners, every man, woman and child rushed toward the door, if only to finally feel like they were making progress on their long journey home. Amidst the confusion, Frank blinked, inhaled deeply, and slowly rose to his feet, his arthritic limbs making the change in position a difficult one. While he was still partially hunched over, a middle-aged woman accidentally bumped into him hard, setting him off balance and forcing him to fling out his arms to avoid tumbling to the floor. Muttering a vague apology, she rushed off toward the end of the line, heaving a toddler and a toy-filled stroller in her wake. Frank winced as he made his second attempt to rise, only to fall to the ground again, this time on purpose. In desperation, he scoured the floor with his hands, searching for something missing, something precious. The necklace. She had owned it for 50 years and never misplaced it, and now he had let it fly out of his hand at the smallest disturbance. How could he let her go so easily? Her bathrobe still hung on the back of the bathroom door. He missed her so very terribly. How could he lose her like that?
Frank knelt motionless on the ground as a sea of oblivious travelers swarmed around him, stepping over his bag and skirting his prostrated form without even glancing down. Utter hopelessness, lonely and cold as the airport terminal. He couldn’t bring himself to rise, not without her. He would stay and do penance for his loss, until his knees became stiff and his back ached. This is what Frank promised himself as a young man slipped effortlessly between the mindless flock and lowered himself into a kneeling position beside Frank.
They locked eyes. Something fleeting and familiar passed between them, but before Frank could think of what it was, the young man spread his hands wide and began sweeping the floor.The line dwindled as the passengers disappeared into the jetway, and still the young man searched, patiently, reassuringly, as though he would scour the entire airport if he had to. At last, with a soft and satisfied sigh, he pulled something gold from beneath a chair several rows away from Frank. Without a word, he smiled and dropped the necklace into Frank’s hand, who clutched it lovingly as his eyes filled with tears. He looked in wonder at the young man and was about to attempt to express his gratitude when another sound interrupted him.
"Sir, last call, we are about to close the gate. We can’t wait for you,” called the desk attendant in a hoarse, tired voice.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, I just have to thank…”
Frank trailed off. The young man was gone, striding away from the gate and down the long, deserted hallway into the darkness. Frank stared after him, heart brimming with tenderness and sorrow. He wanted to weep, but instead he swallowed, picked up his bag, and kissed the necklace before depositing it safely into his front vest pocket. As he entered the tunnel, he took one last look over his shoulder toward where the young man had disappeared. Nothing except an empty terminal and the black expanse of the unlit hallway. Frank whispered a prayer as he turned again and took a step forward.
Arrivals
In the air of mutinous discontent that gripped Terminal 24C at Seattle-Tacoma International Airport on a Sunday night in late November, an elderly man sat apart from the angry buzz of conversation, facing the wall with head downturned in an attitude of melancholy, or meditation, or both. Lips shut, eyes on the square of carpet directly in front of him, Frank Portello gently rubbed an object between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. A curious bystander, if there had been one, could have easily mistaken the article for a rosary or a charm. Instead, it was a woman’s necklace, old-fashioned and lovely. A white cameo of a rose, delicate as a carved bone, sat framed against a midnight blue oval mounted on a brass frame. The pendant, about the size of the tip of a man’s thumb, trailed a long gold chain that glimmered in the artificial lighting.
Not a soul noticed the man and his necklace, though he cradled it with the tenderness of a child’s hand. Fifty years before, Frank had given it to a young woman whose eyes widened with delight when she opened the box. Those eyes, those dear brown eyes, had closed for the last time a year before, leaving Frank with the cool oval of metal and his memories. Funny, he thought, how even as the world bucked and pushed and stole away, the necklace stared up as innocently as it had on the long-ago day of the girl and the dance and the whispered promise.
The intercom crackled to life as the desk attendant announced that flight 734 to Omaha, Nebraska would now be boarding. Sighs of relief permeated the air, quickly replaced with impatient grunts as the scuffle to board the plane ensued. Forgetting their manners, every man, woman and child rushed toward the door, if only to finally feel like they were making progress on their long journey home. Amidst the confusion, Frank blinked, inhaled deeply, and slowly rose to his feet, his arthritic limbs making the change in position a difficult one. While he was still partially hunched over, a middle-aged woman accidentally bumped into him hard, setting him off balance and forcing him to fling out his arms to avoid tumbling to the floor. Muttering a vague apology, she rushed off toward the end of the line, heaving a toddler and a toy-filled stroller in her wake. Frank winced as he made his second attempt to rise, only to fall to the ground again, this time on purpose. In desperation, he scoured the floor with his hands, searching for something missing, something precious. The necklace. She had owned it for 50 years and never misplaced it, and now he had let it fly out of his hand at the smallest disturbance. How could he let her go so easily? Her bathrobe still hung on the back of the bathroom door. He missed her so very terribly. How could he lose her like that?
Frank knelt motionless on the ground as a sea of oblivious travelers swarmed around him, stepping over his bag and skirting his prostrated form without even glancing down. Utter hopelessness, lonely and cold as the airport terminal. He couldn’t bring himself to rise, not without her. He would stay and do penance for his loss, until his knees became stiff and his back ached. This is what Frank promised himself as a young man slipped effortlessly between the mindless flock and lowered himself into a kneeling position beside Frank.
They locked eyes. Something fleeting and familiar passed between them, but before Frank could think of what it was, the young man spread his hands wide and began sweeping the floor.The line dwindled as the passengers disappeared into the jetway, and still the young man searched, patiently, reassuringly, as though he would scour the entire airport if he had to. At last, with a soft and satisfied sigh, he pulled something gold from beneath a chair several rows away from Frank. Without a word, he smiled and dropped the necklace into Frank’s hand, who clutched it lovingly as his eyes filled with tears. He looked in wonder at the young man and was about to attempt to express his gratitude when another sound interrupted him.
"Sir, last call, we are about to close the gate. We can’t wait for you,” called the desk attendant in a hoarse, tired voice.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, I just have to thank…”
Frank trailed off. The young man was gone, striding away from the gate and down the long, deserted hallway into the darkness. Frank stared after him, heart brimming with tenderness and sorrow. He wanted to weep, but instead he swallowed, picked up his bag, and kissed the necklace before depositing it safely into his front vest pocket. As he entered the tunnel, he took one last look over his shoulder toward where the young man had disappeared. Nothing except an empty terminal and the black expanse of the unlit hallway. Frank whispered a prayer as he turned again and took a step forward.
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