There’s something different about the Montreal Airport. People are different. Surrounded by fashion statements, alive with the energy of the city. dreared only slightly by the slow, painful rotation of a baggage carousel.
I’ve left the island and my family for the weekend. The quiet thrill of solace and I’m alone with my thoughts. The long taxi lineup is particularly thrilling. We’re all here: every walk of life.
And although I speak to no one, their stories slowly unfold. I know who they are, i see where they come from. Their actions speak volumes, and briefly, i try to know them all.
A surfer dude in his fifties whizzes by, his sandals strapped tightly to his backpack. His hair is spiked and dyed orange, and his suntan tells me he’s been in Central America, and probably for a long time. i have a flashback to guatemala – to the sunny, carefree months i spent there, and think …some day, i’ll be back there again. we’ll be retired, we’ll get a boat, we’ll sail away. a loud speaker jolts me back to the taxi lineup.
I push my suitcase along as the line inches forward. A business man stares at his cell phone, kicks his compact black suit case ahead. I look down. Mine is purple paisley with pink and lime green, and suddenly i feel like the wild one. I straighten up when he glances over like i’m suddenly in trouble. for a moment i’m in the principals office. yikes.
A young couple waltz into line behind me. They look like McGill students – maybe music. His long scarf – red and navy blue drapes to the ground, and he swings it around his neck again. They tease each other and make silly faces, take photos of each other. They look like they’re going on their first trip together. Mitch and I went on our first trip together too once; i briefly laugh and my heart flutters. We went down south to tell the folks that not only were we in love – we were pregnant with their grand-daughter.
A mom pushes a stroller as the line snakes ahead, slowly. Her toddler son cries out, but Mom is exhausted from a long journey. She rubbed his shoulder but doesn’t attempt to connect. When kids get that tired, books and toys are done. A man shuttles behind her, with a slightly older daughter who sits on some luggage. The two don’t interact at all, and for a moment i think they may not even be together. Airports are tough some times with little ones, the places we drag them against their will. How did Leila like Asia, Mo? Our friends would ask. I chuckle, answer, She never even knew she went.
i became the world and now the world becomes me.
one day i was fresh and new and young, and the next i wake up and i’m my mother. i used to hate that idea, but the older i get, the more comfortable i am with this becoming. Mom. for her age, she’s still rocking her many juggled roles, caretaker and wife and hostess at the forefront. Bearer of food and tickles and the off key tunes i love.
I reach the front of the line and take my ride, sailing into another mothers day.