An Airport Encounter

I wrote this when I came across an acquaintance of mine at the airport. Some of the words here are in Filipino. I didn't put translations because it would ruin the mood of the story.

I arrive in the airport 40 minutes before departure.

 

So there I was, rushing to the check-in area, the police positioned at the scanners telling me, ‘Excuse me po, relaks lang kayo’ all the while throwing my bag on the x-ray machine, and panicking because I still had to remove my sneakers. Thankfully, the policeman told me it was okay for me not to remove my sneakers. Onli in the probins nga naman.

 

My dad was right behind me, carrying my luggage with him to have it checked in. I was like a mad bee rushing all over the place. I was the only passenger left at the check-in counter.

 

As the man weighed in my baggage, I impatiently checked my phone for any text messages. And lo behold, there was one.

 

'How's it going?’ went the text message from my friend.

 

I stared blankly at the message, my mind not absorbing it.

 

Then I remembered.

 

Few days back from our trip to the beach, my friends were asking me when I was going back to Manila on our way back home. I promptly answered. And then they suddenly broke out into hiyawan and laughter.

 

'You’re in the same flight as him!' one exclaimed excitedly.

 

I stared in horror at my friends who continued to laugh out loud. It was just a flight back to Manila anyway. What were the chances of him and me becoming seatmates? Well, it may be likely. After all, we were both solo passengers.

 

Unless his forever stage dad comes along.

 

Whatever.

 

“Hurry up,” my dad said impatiently, shaking me out of my thoughts.

 

So I hurried to pay the terminal fee, bid a hasty goodbye to my dad, and scurried my way to the Departure Area.

 

No sign of him there.

 

Right on cue, as I got into the Departure Area, they started calling the passengers for boarding. People were standing up one by one to get in the queue, some in groups, and others in pairs. Women traveling with their foreign boyfriends, college students who study in Manila, Tsinoy businessmen, and regular Juans all lined up to walk outside the sweltering heat to board the airplane parked by the tarmac, the deafening noise of the airplane’s motors daring to compete with their conversations.

 

I finally boarded the airplane, welcomed by a stewardess’s practiced smile. I squeezed my way through the narrow walkway of the airplane, and luckily my seat was three rows away from the front entrance. I took my seat by the window, the old man in the adjacent row observing me while reading the in-flight magazine. Before I took my seat, I saw a flash of bouncy hair two rows away from my row.

 

Was it him?

 

Never mind.

 

As the plane took off, I was calmly crunching mint candies in my mouth listening to Franz Ferdinand on my iPod, all the while wondering, what does Fate have in store for me now?

 

 

 

An hour and twenty minutes have passed, and the plane landed on the tarmac of the capital’s airport. I let the giddy/impatient/in-a-hurry passengers get off first before joining them. I caught a glance of him, looking outside the window thoughtfully, like he was thinking of what to write in that blog he had.

 

I shook my head, and hurried out of the aircraft. The airport seemed eerily empty, except for the ground staff. We were the first flight from our area, I told myself, hence the 'emptiness'. I walked with the rest of the passengers in the chilly Arrivals area, the marble tiles so shiny they threatened anyone to slip on their surface unless careful. I clung on to my jacket for warmth, not daring to look back for any sign of him.

 

There was a new signage ‘Well-Wishers’ Area’ right across from the Arrivals. I got distracted looking at that while I rode the escalator down to the conveyor belts carrying our baggage.  No need for a cart, I decided, since my things were light enough for me to carry anyway. I walked over to the conveyor belt, waiting impatiently for my luggage, as Tita, grandpa, and Mom peppered my phone with text messages. I impatiently tapped my foot against the shiny marble floor while staring at the conveyor belt, waiting for the baggage to pop out.

 

And then I looked up. A tall man in a gray jacket also parked himself near the conveyor belt, just about twenty feet from me, separated by another passenger. He seemed to notice someone’s eyes on his back. He looked up. Our eyes met.

 

I was in the airport, the crossroads of my life. I've been in and out of this place for so long, I've gotten used to every look, rule, and column I encounter.

 

But this gaze was different. Funny how I've been used to seeing that look during our younger years, but in this very familiar place, this very look was foreign - it kind of made me want to back off even. This look that used to envelop me in its warmth was not the look I knew. And then I knew, things will never be the same again.

 

He looked at me for a brief moment, looking like he wanted to say something. I waited for him to do so. Instead, he looked away again, and walked off.

 

The baggage then came out. I took mine off the conveyor belt, and rolled it off to the Exit.

 

I didn't look back anymore.