Helen got me thinking today. She had mentioned that she's a people watcher. I am sooo a people watcher. When it was my senior year in high school my best friend and I would ditch school alot. Our favorite place was Mission Beach but on the days it was too cold to go there, we would go to the airport and people watch. It enthralled me.
I remember we used to go the local 7-11 store buy clove cigarettes and jam to Wham! or Duran Duran and drive to the airport. To me it was a guilty pleasure sort of fun. People you normally wouldn’t look twice at are the objects of my fascination. Everyone had a story. Sad stories, happy hello stories, heartbreaking good bye stories.
Since we had a Naval & Marine Base by us there were a lot of soldiers leaving for duty, going who knows where. I remember seeing couples hugging each other so tight it brought tears to my eyes. Kids running up and down the isles of chairs with excitement in their eyes dreaming of the vacation they’re about to venture on. And I was wishing it was me. I remember seeing a mother and father saying goodbye to their daughter going off to college– I assume.
That’s the thing about airports. You can almost guess who they were, why they were and where they’re going. It was like a game to me.
Airports have always been a sort of downer for me. No matter how happy you are when you arrive, you have to leave. It seems a soon as I say hello – I’m saying good bye even faster. There are always lots of tears shed for me. I wonder if anyone has figured out what my story is. Do they know I only see my family once a year? Do they know that when I said good bye to my dad it would be the last time I would see him? Will they know how excited I am when I arrive? That my heart beats so fast with nervousness, anticipation and exhilaration?
Do you know my story?