Blizzard Terminal Tango

Susan Jensen had never intended to spend Christmas Eve in a snowy airport terminal, much less in the company of a complete stranger. But as the blizzard outside roared like a wild animal, she realized her meticulously planned itinerary was nothing more than a cruel joke played by fate.

Her flight to Minneapolis, where her family was eagerly awaiting her arrival, had been canceled hours ago. The airline’s desk, overwhelmed by passengers demanding answers, offered nothing but frazzled apologies and vague promises about “rescheduling in the morning.”

Susan slumped into one of the rigid chairs near Gate 14, staring blankly at her phone’s diminishing battery. The terminal was a mix of frustrated parents wrangling overtired kids, businesspeople mumbling into phones, and holiday travelers like Susan, all with nowhere to go. Her carefully chosen holiday sweater, a deep green with tiny embroidered snowflakes, felt almost mocking in its cheerfulness.

“Hell of a night, huh?”

The voice startled her. She turned to see a man, perhaps a few years older than her, with dark curls poking out from under a knit beanie. He held a steaming cup of airport coffee and wore a leather jacket that looked too thin for the raging snowstorm outside.

Susan hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Merry Christmas, I guess.”

“Right? Nothing says ‘holiday magic’ like fluorescent lighting and overpriced vending machine snacks.” He gestured to the seat next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

She shrugged. “It’s not like I can stop you. Free country.”

He chuckled and slid into the chair. “I’m Craig, by the way.”

“Susan.”

“Nice to meet you, Susan. Though I’m guessing you’d rather be meeting me anywhere else but here.”

“That’s an understatement,” she replied. “Where were you headed?”

“Denver. Family thing. You?”

“Minneapolis. Same deal.”

Craig took a sip of his coffee. “Well, it’s like they always say — when life gives you lemons, you… sit in an airport and hope for free Wi-Fi.”

Susan laughed despite herself. “I don’t think that’s how it goes.”

“Close enough.” He held up his coffee. “Care to join me in a toast? To unexpected Christmas companions.”

“Why not?” She lifted the water bottle she’d been nursing for hours and clinked it against his cup. “To terrible holiday luck.”

As the evening stretched into night, Susan and Craig found themselves trading stories to pass the time. He told her about his job as a freelance photographer, capturing everything from weddings to wildlife. She shared tidbits about her work as a high school English teacher and her endless battle to get teenagers to care about Shakespeare.

“So, your students hate Romeo and Juliet?” Craig asked, grinning.

“Oh, they loathe it,” Susan said. “But you know what? I think they secretly love complaining about it more than they hate the play itself. Teenagers thrive on drama.”

“Sounds exhausting.”

“It is. But it’s worth it when one of them finally gets it, you know? When they realize Shakespeare was just writing about stuff they deal with too. Love, jealousy, betrayal.”

Craig tilted his head. “That’s a pretty good sales pitch. Maybe you should teach the airport crowd while we’re stuck here.”

“Ha. I think you’re my only audience right now.”

“Lucky me.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs. “So, Susan, if you weren’t stranded here, what would your perfect Christmas Eve look like?”

Susan thought for a moment. “Nothing fancy. Just being with my family. We always make hot chocolate and watch old Christmas movies. My dad insists on watching White Christmas every year, even though we all secretly hate it. What about you?”

“Pretty similar,” Craig said. “Except replace hot chocolate with eggnog, and White Christmas with my mom’s obsession with Hallmark movies. She loves the predictable ones where the girl from the big city falls for the small-town guy.”

“Let me guess,” Susan said. “You roll your eyes and pretend to hate them, but deep down, you kind of love them.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”

Their conversation drifted from topic to topic — favorite childhood gifts, embarrassing holiday mishaps, even the absurdity of airport security. Hours passed without them noticing, and soon the terminal had quieted, many passengers slumped in chairs or sprawled on the floor.

“Do you think we’ll actually make it out of here tomorrow?” Susan asked, glancing at the snow still pelting the windows.

“Who knows?” Craig said. “But hey, if we don’t, at least we’ve got each other to keep us sane.”

“Small comfort,” she teased, though her smile betrayed her words.

Just then, a janitor wheeled a cart past them, whistling Jingle Bells. Craig sat up straighter, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What are you thinking?” Susan asked warily.

“Come on.” He stood and offered her his hand.

“Come on where?”

“You’ll see.”

Susan hesitated, then placed her hand in his. “This better not get us arrested.”

Craig led her to an empty stretch of terminal near a dormant food court. There, he spun around and held out his arms.

“Dance with me.”

She blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Why not? It’s Christmas Eve, we’re stuck in a frozen limbo, and there’s no one around to judge us. Live a little.”

Susan glanced around, noting the eerie quiet of the terminal. “Fine. But if anyone pulls out their phone to record this, I’m running.”

“Deal.”

Craig placed an invisible partner’s hand on her back, his other hand clasping hers. Slowly, they swayed to the faint strains of Christmas music playing over the terminal’s sound system.

“Is this what you imagined for your holiday?” Susan asked, her voice soft.

“Not exactly,” Craig admitted. “But honestly? It’s not so bad.”

They danced for a while, their laughter echoing in the empty space. For a moment, the blizzard, the canceled flights, and the chaos of the world outside didn’t matter. All that existed was the shared warmth between two strangers who, by some strange twist of fate, had found each other in the most unlikely of places.

As they finally sat down again, Susan realized her phone had died hours ago. She didn’t care. Craig had fallen asleep beside her, his head resting against the back of the chair, his face peaceful. She leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, letting the hum of the terminal lull her into a rare moment of contentment.

Maybe Christmas wasn’t about where you were or what you did. Maybe it was about the connections you made, however fleeting, that reminded you you weren’t alone.