Home for Christmas

Specialist Ben Grant tapped his finger against the blue arm rest twice before opening the ticket folder once again. The gate on the ticket still matched, but he seemed to be the only one to notice that they were supposed to be boarding ten minutes ago. He sat back, sat forward again, and bounced his knee.

The woman at the counter kept her eyes down. She calmly flipped a piece of paper over. She lifted the P.A. mic to her mouth, lowered it again, and flipped the paper. The red bowtie at her neck tilted slightly, an indication of humanity to her otherwise perfect appearance, all pressed and pristine.

Pressure built in Ben’s chest the longer he sat in the plastic chairs. He needed to stand—to move—to do anything but sit. He should have changed out of his uniform, but he had ran from his departing gate to this one where they should have been boarding already. Had they already boarded? Was he waiting for a plane that boarded early, closed the gate, rolled onto the runway, and reopened for the next plane? It wouldn’t be the first time.

Ben had the worst plane luck. However, it seemed like so did everyone else. Everyone had a story or two of airports delaying passengers for no apparent reason, gates being disorganized and moved at the last minute without a sufficient way of telling passengers, planes overbooked, some kind of plane malfunction, some weather delay in the arrival airport when that destination was only a layover so they really could take him anywhere and it wouldn’t matter—Chicago has high winds? Just drop me off in Philadelphia, I don’t care, just get me home!

Home. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of home. It was so close. He hadn’t touched American soil—breathed in American air—in 364 days. Although the landscape of Afghanistan looked very similar to the fields of his hometown, to the point that if he didn’t close his eyes and feel the difference it was as if he had never left, it wasn’t the sand or the low bushes, or the hot summers or the freezing winters that he longed for. He felt as if an invisible string tugged from deep inside his chest tightening and loosening with every move she made.

The woman lifted the mic once more and pressed the button. Ben sat up, ready. “Montgomery Johnson to the front desk, please. Mr. Montgomery Johnson.”

Ben sat back again.

He should just go up to the counter and double check that he’s in the right place. Would that delay them even longer? Everyone’s schedules waiting on him explaining that no, he’s not Montgomery Johnson; yes, he does have a boarding pass; no, he would not like to check his bag; no, he would not like to give up his seat for someone else with a coupon for discounted tickets and a luxury stay in the airport’s five-star hotel; no, he doesn’t need anything else, he had simply wasted his time and theirs to walk up and talk to them.

The blue board flashed as something changed. He scanned his eyes down the arrival and departing flights, their cities coming and going, the times and estimations, the delays and cancellations. His ticket still matched the board, the board still matched the gate, the time still matched his watch, which he changed to this time zone as he ran from the last gate to this one. He checked the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes passed the time he was supposed to board.

A couple cuddled on two chairs diagonal from him. The blue arm rest sticking out between them. An arm wrapped around another, fingers laced, heads on shoulders. One lifted their head, smiled at the other, and they kissed. Ben’s heart dropped to the grey carpet beneath his boots. The string tugged as he felt her pull farther away from him.

#

Jenna squeezed the steering wheel. Her fingertips, exposed from the knuckle down in her black gloves, felt like sticks of icicles. She should have warmed up the car while she curled her hair. Was she purposefully making herself late? She didn’t actually want to go to her sister’s Christmas party. Her and her husband with their matching sweaters and wine glasses, leaning against a grand piano facing the wide window overlooking the city, it was all too much.

Every year they reserved the same penthouse suite and acted like they owned a condo in Manhattan. This was Reno, for heaven’s sake. Okay, that one night did cost them about a grand just for the room, not to mention the caterer and the pianist and their own bar tender. But still. The room looked out onto blinking dollar loan signs and bus stations, and she acted like below in the dark city beheld her empire.

Jenna knew that she would spend the whole night, wishing she were home wearing fuzzy socks, nose in a romance novel, drinking tea, and pretending like the holidays didn’t exist. Because they didn’t. Not while he was gone. She didn’t bother getting a tree. She sent him a box of gifts weeks ago: a pack of energy drinks, cigarettes, pop tarts, and a celebrity gossip magazine that she had never seen him think about picking up when he was home. Maybe being 7,333 miles away made you interested in what Britney Spears was up to. A better alternative than acknowledging the fear that in the year since he has been deployed, he had changed.

She knew he had to have changed. It had been a year. He had spent every holiday without her, and now, he would spend one more. She hadn’t heard from him in a few days. Sometimes this would happen—the lines were down, they were busy, the military wasn’t allowing anyone to contact home until something had been sorted out—and she spent most of her energy pushing the images that something terrible had happened out of her mind. She would sometimes blink and see a soldier in dress blues standing in her doorway in her mind’s eye and would spill her coffee or slip out of the lane on the freeway.

Jenna entered the parking garage and slowly made her way around the layers of parked cars uncaring if she found a spot. Her sister most likely didn’t notice she was late, probably wouldn’t notice or care if she even came. She stopped as a car pulled out of a spot, staring deep into the white reverse light. He is safe, she told herself, taking deep breaths and squeezing the steering wheel tighter, he is safe. She pulled into the spot and shut off the engine. Her head spun and her stomach twisted into knots. Everything was going to be okay, she just needed to calm herself down.

#

Ben leaned against the window as cold air seeped in. A light on the wing of the plane blinked softly. Other passengers moved around him, finding their seats, storing their bags that were too large for the overhead compartment, searching for headphones, pulling down their bags from their overhead compartment, nervously fiddling with their seatbelts and air. Ben kept his eyes on the dark night wishing everyone would sit quickly and they could get going, finally.

His stomach clenched tighter with every second they were not moving. He willed the bags to be thrown under the plane faster, he begged each elder to find their seats quicker, he closed his eyes and pictured the pilot flipping switches, hitting buttons, checking stats, and as if he had telepathic abilities, he told him not to converse with the co-pilot and focus on the task at hand.

Static fell through the overhead speaker announcing the pilot about to speak. “Good evening, folks.” Ben ripped his eyes open and sat up. All the other passengers around him, froze. “There has been a slight delay, we will begin take off momentarily.”

A groan tumbled through the tops of the seats, despite how slow they all were at sitting down. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back.

As a distraction, he pictured what everyone would be doing right now. It was Christmas Eve. His mother, most likely, was driving around looking at the lights in her neighborhood. His brother was probably laying out cookies for Santa and allowing his kids to open “just one” present and they would beg for just one more. His friends were guaranteed to be out drinking together, tapping their shot glasses on the table for him.

The string attached to his heart, loosened, and bounced as Ben felt the plane move. Static came from the speaker above him once again. “Good evening again folks, we have been given the go-head to get into queue. We will take-off in about fifteen minutes. We have significant cloud cover from here to Reno,” more static, “keep the seatbelt sign on for most of the flight.”

The plane stopped moving and the string tightened again.

#

The elevator doors opened to a room full of people. Jenna stretched a fake smile across her mouth as she stepped through the doors. For two breaths Jenna was just a piece of the twinkling lights, the fake holly and mistletoe, the red and green table runners and napkins, before her sister spotted her. Jenna watched her sister’s mouth form the words “excuse me” to the group of people surrounding her, she placed her empty champagne flute on a waiter’s tray, grabbed two full flutes, and moved around the crowd to get to Jenna.

“Some party,” Jenna said before her sister could chastise her for being late.

“My best one yet,” Beth said with a nod.

Jenna pivoted towards the crowd. “Are the parents here?”

“No, they’re in the Bahamas. Mom said she was tired of being cold for Christmas, I’m surprised they didn’t tell you.”

“Maybe they did.”

Beth gave her that pitying look that Jenna hated. She lifted the flute and watched the bubbles of the champagne for a second before she put the glass to her lips and downed the whole thing. She was going to need the boost if she was going to pretend like everyone wasn’t feeling sorry for her that she was alone for Christmas.

The elevator door dinged.

Jenna turned around and stepped aside. At least she wasn’t the last guest to arrive. She put the empty flute down on the nearest table. The doors opened.

Jenna’s hands went weak.

Still in his uniform, Ben stood in the elevator. His eyes were already on her as if he knew that she would be standing in this exact spot. He stepped forward and she ran. Tears clouded her vision, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need to see to know where he stood, she had the feel of him memorized.

“I’m home,” he said into her neck as she threw her arms around him. “I’m home for Christmas.”