Chain 31.Aug.05 [finished]

“Chain. Chain.” She held out the lonely airline ticket helplessly, waving it gently in urgency.1

“I—” The girl began, uncertain and just as lost herself. But she smiled softly and translucently, ecstatic at having found someone else from her flight whom’d missed her connection. She was not alone. “I don’t understand. I’m sorry— Chain? You mean connection?”2

“Chain. Chain.” Her English was very bad and she was without the younger woman who had, on board, endeavoured translation from Japanese.3

“Your connection? I missed my connection, too. I’m going to Terminal 5, but you’re connecting to Texas, aren’t you? I remember you from the plane. You were sitting in my aisle.”4

“Chain.” She waved the ticket again. The young girl took a closer look at it delicately through glassed and reddened eyes. She swallowed another bout of tears.5

“Yeah, you’re going to Texas. I’m going to New York. It says on your ticket Terminal 8. You have to go to Terminal 8.”6

“Chain. Chain.” The older, Japanese woman looked confused, not comprehending. The girl tried again.7

“Terminal 8. Don’t you have someone with you?”8

“Chain. Chain.” The woman began to turn away, dragging her bag behind her.9

“Are you saying train? You have to take the bus to Terminal 8? Is that what you mean?”10

“Chain. Chain.” The woman muttered to herself and began away. The girl shook her head, guilty at not being able to help. Though she knew the Japanese woman couldn’t understand and was too far away to hear, she mumbled in naďve effort to help:11

“I’m sorry. I can’t understand. You’d better ask somebody else.” She picked up her 3 heavy bags, fingers sore already from lugging the luggage through security and customs. She winced at her digits’ pain when she began to roll but pulled along anyway. She followed the Japanese woman, struggling to keep up, not wanting to lose the only companion she had. But she had to stop after only a few steps, switching hands to pull along her 50-pound carpetbag and another 15 pounds of luggage. She hurried to catch up to the Japanese woman, but she was already far behind and, after having to switch hands again, she’d lost her completely. Stopping, she caught her distressed breath.12

“I don’t want to stay the night,” she told herself. “I’m all alone and I’m 16 years old and I don’t have anyone with me and I’m not going to stay all alone overnight in L.A.” She recalled the cheerful man who, after asking her to donate money to homeless children, had told her that she’d missed her flight to JFK by 6 hours. She might have to stay to night. Surely the airline would put her up. She’d definitely be able to get a flight the next morning. Right now, the girl tried hard not to panic and pushed all her worried tears down her throat. She’d had a little cry about it. Now it was time to work. “It’ll all be okay,” she said to no one. “I’ll get to the terminal and they’ll find me a new flight and it’ll be tonight because I am not staying a night in L.A. all by myself.” She began to drag her bags with her again, drawing in breath at how her fingers screamed. “I haven’t slept in over 24 hours and I was on that plane for—” She paused, calculating. “—Almost 18 hours and I went through customs and I did all that and now I want to go home.” She sobbed dryly. “I should have been home by now. I should be at home in New York right now.”13

Terminal 5 was up ahead, its letters looming in the darkening sun, another 200 feet, maybe. The Japanese woman had disappeared, but the girl was not concerned about her anymore. Now she had to get a new ticket on a new plane at a new time to get to her old destination. She stopped to rest and wiped her eyes. “It will all be all right. They have to have more flights. Everyone missed their connection. It wasn’t just me. They have to have more flights. It will be okay.”14

The escalator to the terminal was the next problem to surmount. The carpetbag was enormous, 50 pounds, and unyielding, and managing it was only 1/2 the trick; the wheeled suitcase, atop which sat precariously the carry-on, also had to ascend the incline safely. The girl watched it for a while, distraught, steeled herself for the battle, and made a rush for the moving stairs, stumbling, pulling the suitcase up onto the next step, the other arm attempting to hold the carpetbag securely against her side and failing. “Oh, come on, you,” the girl scolded, beginning to lose what little calm she had left and feeling her eyes moisten. “Please work. Please. I don’t need any more trouble. I’ve done the 1st flight, the 1st leg, and now I’m stranded in L.A. and I might have to stay the night. But I don’t want to; I don’t want to. How am I supposed to do that? I’m only 16 years old and I’m all by myself. I can’t do that. I have to take a flight tonight. I should be home by now.” She struggled to keep the complaining luggage under control, stiffening to realize how unstable her position was. “Just work, would you? We’re nearly there. Please just work.” She teetered, looked down at where she’d come from, looked back up. She was nearly there – another 7 feet … 5 … 2—15

“Shit, shit,” she cursed, not for the first time that day, as she clumsily navigated herself and her baggage off the escalator, narrowly avoiding tripping over her possessions – the only possessions she had right now, and precious as anything else – as she came to a decisive halt at the entrance to Terminal 5. “I don’t see why they need an escalator,” she griped miserably. “I don’t see why they need to make it so difficult to get anywhere in this God-forsaken airport. I hate this place. I want to go home.”16

She took a look around her, hesitated, and then dragged painfully her bags through the entrance after switching her hands again. Glancing at the line of people for ticketing, she sighed and moved towards them.17

“Excuse me.”18

The girl turned around to find an older, stouter woman sporting red curls about her face standing beside her with a small smile and luggage in tow.19

“Hello,” she greeted breathlessly.20

“Did you miss your connection, too? Flight 446 to JFK?”21

“Yes, that’s it. You missed it, as well?” Hope returning, she managed a grin. Although she had lost the Japanese woman, here was another traveler gone off course.22

“I’m so glad I found someone else. I was a bit nervous about getting another flight.” Her grin widened and the girl felt an odd peace at hearing her own feelings echoed in the older woman’s words.23

“So was I—” She left off awkwardly, wanting to say more about how terrible it had been and the anxiety she’d suffered, but decided against it.24

“We should get in line. Look, you should get that luggage cart over there.”25

“Yeah, all right.” The girl retrieved the cart and heaved the heavy bags into its back despite her fatigued arms and the woman held a place in line, beckoning to her young companion when the bags were safely stowed. Now her arms and hands and fingers – now they’d all be saved. Thank God for luggage carts. When again together, the woman smiled.
“What were you doing in Sydney?”26

“Oh, I wasn’t in Sydney most of the time. I was in Canberra visiting my grandmother, but we went up a few times. How about you?”27

“I was on vacation. I stayed at a hotel that looked right over the ocean.”28

“Wow. Sounds nice.”29

“It was. I spent a lot of time on the beach.”30

“You must have loved it.”31

“I did. It was beautiful. How was Canberra?”32

“Oh,” the girl said with a smile, “Cold.” And she laughed, continuing the small talk as the line crawled. Upon approaching the counters, she heard out of the corners of her ears: ‘Flight 446?’ And paid instant attention. A couple inquired neatly of her flight, her missed connection, and was answered with a finger pointing down the hall to a separate bunch of ticketers. ‘Over there.’ And the couple, hauling baggage on carts, took off in that direction. The girl, curious, noted, “I think we’re supposed to go over there.” She pointed in the direction the other two had gone, but the older woman looked dubious.33

“Why do you say that?”34

“The check-in person said so to another group of people and pointed that way.”35

The older woman shot a glance to where the girl pointed. “You think so?”36

“Well, it can’t hurt.” They weren’t too far deep into the initial line, anyway. The girl began away and, with indecision, the woman followed her to a new queue. “Look,” she said in attempt to lend security to her companion, “It says flight 446.” The ticker above the booths all read, **FLIGHT 446 FROM SYDNEY TO JFK**.37

“Do you know what flights there are?” The woman, although she was in line, was antsy and glanced frequently backwards. The girl, knowing this, tried hard to seem as confident as possible and hoped her faith would rub off on her cohort.38

“I know there’s a 7:something one, but—” She checked her watch. “—It’s almost 7:00, now, so I don’t think we’ll make that one. There’s also a 10:10 one.” ‘And I’ll be on that one,’ she told herself, ‘Because it’s only fair that I get home as soon as possible. I don’t want to stay here any longer and I don’t want to stay overnight and I want to just go home now, thank you.’ They moved ahead.39

There were all sorts of people there – the girl noticed people with obvious posters and maps rolled up in special tubes, tissue-papered valuables, boxed-and-bubble-wrapped mugs, large bags, small bags, purses, fishing poles, Australian T-shirts, caps and sandals, pins and dry tongues from licking too many postage stamps for innumerable postcards. She grinned in empathy, wondering at an odd guitar case and pair of ski poles.40

“I think,” said the woman finally, eyebrows askew, “I’ll go back over there.” She pointed in the direction from whence they’d come and, distressed, the girl looked after her, hoping perhaps this woman might’ve stayed.41

“Oh, all right—” And, with that, the woman was gone. The girl’s 2nd companion had departed and she was alone again. She hadn’t even learned her name, which maybe she should have done. Or maybe not. But there was but little time to grieve, for she was next in line.
“How many bags to check?”42

“2.”43

“Put them up here, please.” And, with difficulty, the girl complied, feeling the absolute weakness in her arms, though she struggled to look as capable as possible. The baggage clerk tapped at her keyboard.
“Ticket and ID, please.” And the passport and old, worn, lonely ticket were pushed across the plastic counter. There was more tapping at the keyboard. “I can … get you on the 10:10 flight to JFK.”44

“Yes, that’s fine.” But it was more than fine because the girl was getting to go home and she didn’t have to spend the night and she would be going home. She could not suppress her grin.45

“Aisle or window?”46

“Aisle. I don’t care. Doesn’t matter.” Going home, going home, going home— More hacking at the keyboard.47

“All right, here’s your ticket. Gate 46.”48

And the girl was handed the new ticket at the new times to the old destination. All of a sudden, she felt her exhaustion overtake her. “Thank you.”49

“Right up the escalator behind you. And here’s a 15 dollar voucher for your trouble. Go and have something to eat.” 1 friendly smile.50

“Thank you.” She reached up to take the voucher, but her arms could go no farther than the height of her shoulders and she wondered at it, realizing then that her fingers were swollen and red from heaving around her 75 pounds of possessions and that her shoulder and neck muscles had expired. Though she hurt and was numb all at once, a sense of satisfaction swept all of it away. Stepping out of the line to go up the escalator, she laughed gently, giddy. Victory was hers! She was going to go home in less than 3 hours and she would get some food with her 15 dollar voucher and she would sit there at the gate, Gate 46, faithfully until her flight was called, because she was going home. Going home! The idea pulled the breath from her. JFK! New York! Home! Home! Home!51

The pay phones, until now so scarce, stood like soldiers all together – 10 of them, 50 of them, 100s of them all in one place, awaiting her appearance. The girl sought 1 lucky phone out, loved the receiver, would have kissed the mouthpiece were it not so public and likely gross. She dialed a number. Ring, ring ring— “Hello! Mum! —Yes, I’m fine, I’m fine! I’m coming home, now!”52