The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Sitting back in the molded orange plastic seat ignoring the many mumbling couples sitting around him at the departure lounge, the young man looked down to read his plane ticket for the fourth time. He dressed down in tan slacks and a lightweight shirt covered with Hawaiian palm tree prints. He looked up to scowl at the opened vent above him. The unnaturally ice-cold stale air blowing down gave him a cold chill.

"They're trying to freeze people out of here."

He thought as he moved to the next plastic seat, this time it was yellow. He glanced at the window to look at the huge glaring yellow and orange sun outside burning the people below.

His long finger rhythmically, tapped at his right leg as the leg bounced in anticipation. A bright shine came from his polished fingernails almost blinding him. He closed his eyes and sighed, annoyed. He stared down at his fingernails, the shine of the lights above him made white and blue light patterns on each of his nails. He spread out his large hands and watched as the patterns danced by the shine of the light above.

He didn't really know why he didn't wash it off last night. He just forgot, with all the preparation and the anticipation of the trip he forgot to clean off the clear polish from his fingernails he wears to work. He was lucky to remember to comb his unruly black hair this morning.

The ultimate workaholic, he is a young man in his late 30's going on his first real vacation in five years. He looked up from his plane ticket to read the large black bulletin board again behind the blond employee at the check-in counter: Plane 474 to the Virgin islands 2:00pm, the little bold white letters said. He smiled his full thin mouth twitching. He sucked in a breath, and he looked at his watch. It read 1:45pm. The plane was to arrive at 2:00pm, he didn't know if he could wait that long.

He raised his hand to sweep it across his face. His hand slowly moved across his chin. He heard a soft scraping sound; it was the dark short prickly hairs he shaved this morning growing out again. He dropped his hand and pressed it down on his leg trying to calm himself.

He closed his eyes and thought about his destination the American Virgin Islands, St John. Stretches of white sugar sand beaches and a huge clear crystal blue ocean. He couldn't wait to serf or take a boat to sail out to the huge Pirate coves found in the ocean. Maybe he'll even meet a woman there. His mind then turned to the intoxicating sweet smell of popped corn and hot buttered oil. His desert dry mouth suddenly filled with saliva as a loud growling sound came from deep inside his stomach.

He didn't realize that he was hungry until he smelled the popcorn. He turned his head to find a young fresh faced redheaded woman vendor, selling popcorn from a cart with red-white striped awning across the way. He blinked, staring at the stand. He ate breakfast that morning; a delicious scrambled egg sandwich. It should have satisfied him, but all he could think about was if he had time enough to buy a box.
However, as if on cue, the woman at the check-in counter spoke up

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Flight 474 is about to be boarded."

With the thought of eating freshly popped hot-buttered popcorn now erased from his mind he got up from his seat to join the people now gathering on line to board the plane.

The End
Joanna E. Lopez
2004