the first...
I don’t what will happen for me,
either. I have an idea, a hope, some thoughts. But I’m not really sure what to
expect.
There’s no-one else in the car
park as I walk the few hundred yards to the arrival hall. A few people are
standing outside, smoking and chatting. I walk past them and have to screw my
eyes up. It’s so brightly-lit. All glass and shiny metal. Because I’ve been in
the dark for the past couple of hours my eyes take a few minutes to adjust. I
peer around for the arrivals board. I thought there’d be one suspended from the
ceiling but I can’t see anything. I can make something out right at the other end
of the hall however. My feet make an echoing sound on the floor as I walk
towards it, past the closed car hire counters, an empty customer service hatch
and the café with just a few very bored people sitting at tables, flicking
through their mobiles and drinking coffee out of paper cups. I hear my feet
slapping ridiculously loudly. I feel as if I should be tip-toeing around. It is
similar to walking through a very old church or a big cathedral and making too
much noise.
There is only one arrival shown
on the board. No departures. It feels like an airport that’s just about to
close down. The only arrival is her flight. On time. In half an hour or so.
That’ll be about an hour maybe before her cases are unloaded, checks through
customs, waits by the carousel for her bags and walks through the door. I
wonder what she’s thinking? I wonder how she feels at this very moment? She’ll
have probably just been told that the flight is on time and that she should
fasten her seat belt, reading for landing. Maybe not now, maybe not
half-an-hour before landing, but it won’t be long. In ten minutes or so.
I wonder if she’s thinking the
same things that I am? I wonder if she knows what to expect or how things will
turn out? I have a slight feeling, but no more than that, that she has more a
clue than I do. She always was more attuned to things than I was, but after all
this time? It’s hard to tell. I think that there should be a faint telepathy
between us, even though I don’t really believe in all that sort of stuff. If I concentrate
hard enough then maybe, while I’m standing in front of this electronic board
showing her flight then I can make a connection. I look upwards to where I
imagine the plane might be and close my eyes for a second.
There’s nothing. Or if there is then
it’s simply in my imagination. I try again. I can picture her sitting on the
plane, tidying things away, getting ready for the landing, looking out of the
window, peering through the clouds, looking towards the ground, trying to make
what just might be familiar landmarks that she’s not seen for a very long time.
I can see her running her hands through her hair. Is this just guessing at what
everybody does at the end of a flight or is it something else? It all feels
very real. Very stark and matter-of-fact. It’s not like a dream; I can see
colours, vivid colours. I hear her say my name, very quietly. It’s almost a
whisper. Almost. It’s slightly louder than a whisper. I only hear it once. Yet
it’s very clear. It’s not a whisper in my ear though. It’s right in my head.
Right here and right now. I’m sure I’m not imagining it. I can hear her and
it’s very real. All this happens in the brief moment I shut my eyes. I can see
her sitting on the plane, yet I can hear her. I turn around, half expecting,
no, fully expecting, her to be standing beside me, right next to me. But she’s
not here. I am standing all alone in a vast arrival hall, standing alone and
staring upwards at a black screen.
