Across the Room

She sees him across the room-can he really be looking at her...

Standing at an over-crowded international airport departure gate, I look up and see him.  

 

He stands out.  Not only because he is taller than most of the departing passengers, but because the cobalt blue shirt highlights his hazel eyes. He appears to be smiling to someone in my direction which allows me to marvel at how his white teeth cast a contrast to the honey-colored skin. The brown curly hair with hints of sun-bleached sections look golden in the glaring cool white lights of the steel and concrete building.

 

As he continues smiling, I look behind me to see who the intended person of this mesmerizing smile.  Seeing no one, I turn to my right, and see most passengers looking intently to the steel gates guarding the boarding section.  No one is meeting his gaze.  I look back in his direction and realize he is smiling at me

 

Giving him a weak smile, I see him trying to maneuver his way towards me. I am immediately reminded of the comedy line of Filipino-American stand-up comic  JR De Guzman “When I see a Black man with light eyes, like I forget my name.”  With my flight still a good 2 hours away, there is no reason for me to move. Trying not to stare, but staring nevertheless, I watch him make his way in what seems like Slo-Mo movements. He is weaving amongst red blouses, white shirts, grey sweatshirts, with Ed Sheeran’s song --“I’m in love with shape of you” playing as soundtrack in my mind.

 

He reaches me. I hold my breath. He takes hold of my hand with confidence. I don’t pull back. Mind you, I am not someone who allows strangers to hold my hand but, in this case, I make an exception.  As he takes my hand he tugs gently and says, “We will get through this -follow me.”  I had been so engaged with watching this man across the room that I had been unaware that the departure gate was now breaming with passengers trying to get to their respective gates. The stainless -steel holding area was becoming increasingly chaotic with passengers pushing and pulling as they jostled bodies and encased possessions to reach the boarding section.

 

“My hero” says my smile. Here is a man who knows how to get through crowds, a man who knows how to get what he wants, the confidence in his voice tells me this. I follow meekly. As he pushes through the throng of passengers, he shouts out---“Please make way for my mother and me.”   My smile freezes. Did he just say his mother??

 

The movie scenes with all its special effects and sound track come to a vinyl record-needle scratching halt. Why would this 30 something year old man refer to me as his mother? As I follow him, there is a brief out of body experience. I see the handsome man clad in the cobalt blue, snowy white  trainers, holding the hand of a middle age woman wearing brown velcro strapped, arch support sandals with the baggy, beige cropped pants. 

What she has on a top does not matter because nothing will cancel out those shoes and pants. I look at her face, that’s not me. This woman looks old, she is not the 33 year old woman who was smiling across the room. 

 

As we reach the exit to the gate, my body and mind reconnect.  He smiles proudly and says, ”phew got us through that mess.” 

 I smile at him like a proud mother and say, “yes you did.”  He looks to his right and says, well that’s the direction of my gate. I tell him, mine is in the other direction. He nods and says “well, have a safe flight.” I say, “you too”.  As I walk in the opposite direction, not sure if it’s the direction of my gate but needing a graceful exit, I try to walk as straight as possible. I know he is not looking at me but, in my mind, I need to believe he is.

 

I pass billboards that display the faces of young women holding pink Chanel handbags close to their faces with pink eyeshadow and pink glossy lipstick, posters of young men in tight fitting black shirts with diamond earrings, and all of a sudden, I feel like time has left me behind but I strut in my support sandals while Chaka Khan sings to me-- I’m Every Woman, it’s all in me”

Luz M. Martinez

November 2021

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

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