Second Chance (15 page)

When I
finally
arrive at
the airport in
A
lbuquerque
, my body moves with all the grace and coordination of a bag of lead
.
My lips are chapped,
my eyes hurt
,
and my shoes smell so bad I consi
der throwing
them
away
,
but I’m too tired to untie the laces
.
I trip over my own feet on the way to the baggage claim and
decide to take a short rest against the wall, next to the restroom
s
.
I have to wait for my luggage, anyway.

***

D
istant voices
try to
wake
me up
,
but I refuse to open my eyes
.
If lack of sleep were an
Olympic
competition,
I
could
have placed
at least
silver
.
So I deserve
a nap
.
Their
mumbling
continues to
stir the air around me
.
They sound French
.
Wait, a
m I i
n France
?
I can’t remember
.

“
Pas, merci
,” I say
without opening my eyes
and swat my
arm
in the air
.
“
Aller
-on
.”
  Wow
.
I’m impressed I remember the words for
no
,
thank you
and
go away
in
my d
azed
subconscious
.

“What is she saying?”
I hear a
n elderly
voice whisper.

“I think she’s French,
”
another woman answers
.
Ugh, great
.
Wrong language
.
Where am I again
?
Germany?

“
Nicht
,
danke
,
”
I groan
.

“What was that?”
someone asks.

“She must be from
Europe
.”

I recognize the American voices and
open my eyes
to
meet the concerned gaze of
two
gray-haired
women
leaning down and
peering
in my face
.
The
y
step back,
startled.

“
Dear, w
e were
w
orried about you
,” one of them says to me
slowly as if she thinks I can’t understand English
.
“You looked unconscious.”

I
pull myself up and press my hand against my forehead to try and ease a head rush that
feels like someone is banging a metal hammer against the side of my head
.
I stare with a frown at
th
e conveyer belt
.
There’s my low
ly duffel bag, still making its rounds
like an old, abandoned dog
waiting for someone to notice it
.

“I must have fallen asleep,” I say and rub my eyes
.
I blink and try to focus on the friendly faces that look
concerned
for my
well-being
.

“Is someone picking you up?” one of them asks me.

“Where am I?” I ask
and I fast forward through the last
few
hours of my
memory
.
Chicago
?
No
.
Dallas?

“
Albuquerque
,
New Mexico
in the
United States of America
,” the old lady says
slowly
.

I slap my palm against my forehead
.
“That’s it.”
And then it hits me
.
I’m here!
A
fter traveling over la
nd
,
ocean,
mountains
, desert
and experiencing
way
to
o much turbulence,
I’m h
ome
.
Only miles, minutes from
Gray, who
will take me in his arms and let me sleep for forty
-
eight hours and rip off my clothes and throw me down on the bed
and
act
out my
sexual fantasies
and eat a huge plate of
biscuits and gravy
.
Not necessarily in that order
.

I grab a scrap of
paper out of my pocket
with Gray’s address
and tell th
ese
wom
e
n I need a cab
.
One of the
m
introduces herself as Margaret and
i
nsist
s
on
seeing me safely home
.
I smile and thank her
.
I get to my feet and
waddle to the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face
,
which I
discover
has deep indents down the side of my cheek from
sleeping on my backpack
.
I brush my teeth with my index finger because I’m too exhausted to look for my toothbrush
.
I’m so
done with
travel
ing
for a while
.

***

Margaret turns her old Cadillac onto
Gray’s street
and
I look around with a content smile
.
T
he
off-campus
housing is exactly how I i
magined
it
.
Old, two and three story homes sit close to each other under large maple trees that line
the
sidewalks
.
Students
pedal by on
bikes
or walk
along the sidewalk
, c
lutching mugs of
coffee
.
Mmm
.
Coffee
.
Guys are
throwing footballs in the street
and
g
rilling out on front porches
with beer
s
in their hands
and flip flops on their feet
.
I feel like I’m
watching
an infomercial advertising the diverse and happy student lifestyle at
t
he University of New Mexico
.

I
ask
Margaret
to pull over when I see
Gray’s
house
.
It’s white
with
blue
shutters framing the windows,
has three stories
, and
looks like a giant birthday cake
.  Maybe
I’m just hungry
.
If I
were
a giant I’d light candles on top of it and kick off my own welcome home p
arty
.
I
get out of the car and stretch
while
Margaret
unlocks the trunk
so I can
grab
my duffel bag
.
She
hugs me and
welcomes me once more to the United States
.
She a
ssures me I’ll love it here and
that
Americans are very
friendly
.