On My Way

“What do you mean, cancelled?” I ask, glaring at the customer service agent behind the desk. “I purchased my ticket four weeks ago. This is unacceptable.”

“I understand that, ma’am,” the man says in an infuriatingly monotonous tone. “But I’m afraid all flights scheduled for the next twenty-four hours have been grounded due to poor weather conditions.”

“Poor weather conditions!” I throw my hands up in the air, exasperated beyond belief. “Poor weather conditions!”

He blinks. “Ma’am, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a blizzard. One of the worst we’ve had in over twenty years.” He types something into his computer. “There are several rental cars still available if you’d like to take the shuttle to the North Terminal-”

“No, I would not like,” I snap. “And stop calling me ma’am! I’m twenty-seven!” I snatch my now useless boarding pass from his hand and stalk off, leaving him to fend off the next angry ousted passenger in line. 

All thoughts of a relaxing first-class journey, of my highly anticipated solo vacation in Bora Bora bursts with all the fanfare of a popped balloon as I sit heavily on one of the seats by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Any view of the airplanes beyond it is obscured by the thick, seemingly endless curtain of snow cascading from the darkening sky. A glance at my Rolex tells me it's only just past four o’clock, and yet night is already knocking at the door. Perfect. 

Navigating to my contacts list, I dial my assistant’s number but the damned line immediately sends me to her voicemail. Even more perfect. I fight the urge to throw my phone across the room, resorting instead to releasing a string of obscenities that would make my mother gasp.

“Tough night?” 

I glance to my left, looking for the source of the voice. I find it in the form of an elderly woman, delicate lines crinkling the corners of milky, clouded eyes. “Are you talking to me?” The older woman smiles slowly but does not deign to respond. “Of course, I’m having a tough night. I’m stuck in an airport on Christmas Eve.”

The old woman inclines her head, studying me in an almost feline fashion. “Are you ‘stuck’, dear, or are you simply here?”

What the hell does that even mean? “Of course I’m stuck,” I tell her incredulously. I gesture at the airport around us, at all the quietly exhausted people searching for ways out of here. A few doze fitfully across the plastic seats, while others talk in low tones on the phone. “We’re all stuck here, thanks to the snowstorm.”

“Not me.” She shakes her head, sparse white hair glinting in the fluorescent light.

I stare at her, noting for the first time that she does not have any luggage with her. In fact, the only possession I can see is a small, ratty teddy bear, clutched in her shaking grasp. “So, what? You’re just hanging out in an airport for the fun of it?”

She ignores my question. “Why are you leaving?”

The question takes me aback. Who is this woman? “Excuse me? That’s none of your business, lady.” I don’t have to explain myself to this stranger. 

Music melts from the overhead speakers, an infernal crooning that muddles my thoughts and prickles my overwrought nerves. I look down at my phone, busying in an attempt to discourage further conversation.

But the old woman is persistent. “Your parents will miss you. You never responded to their invitation.” 

My phone almost slips from my hand as I parse her words. How does she know that?

“Oh, leave her alone,” another voice chimes in, this time from the seat across from me. I look up to see another woman, this one closer to my age, a few years my senior. She’s dressed similarly to me, in a primly cut business suit, her hair pulled back severely. She raises neat brows at the older woman. “Not all of us are chomping at the bit to go home for Christmas.”

“Exactly,” I say, triumphant to receive this new woman’s validation. “They don’t need me.”

The older woman shakes her head slowly. For some reason, the action causes heat to flush up my neck, though I can't understand why. “Need, want-they are not the same thing. When was the last time you called them?”

I open my mouth to retort that it hasn’t been long at all. I called them just the other week. Or was it last month? I’m certain I called my mother for her birthday in September…right? I glance back down at my phone, still open to the call log. Scrolling through the list of names, I see that the majority of my outgoing calls are to my assistant, as well as various business associates, my staff, and the housekeeper. I scroll well past September but find no evidence of a call to my mother. I bristle. “I’m a business owner, a CEO,” I announce aloud, feeling the need to defend myself. “And I did it all before my thirties! I didn’t build my company without sacrifice. My parents just don't understand that. They don't understand any of it.”

The older woman smiles sadly, fingers stroking the teddy bear still clutched in her wrinkled hands. “There is nothing I wouldn't give to go back. To spend just one more day with my mother. To hear her say my name, to hold me in her arms. To waltz around in the kitchen with my father one last time.”

The words are not wielded as a weapon, nor are they even spoken directly to me, but my heart stutters unexpectedly. I wrestle down the weakness.

“Don’t listen to her,” the younger woman says to me, rolling her eyes. “People only weigh you down. They imprison you with their stagnant attitudes and insipid ideas of love and family, and all this other useless crap. You don’t need them.” She leans forward, her eyes locking with mine, something shrewd and glittering in her gaze. “You're doing just fine on your own. Aren't you, Anna?” 

The music pauses as an overhead announcement plays over the speakers, I try to tune in, to listen to the voice, but everything is slightly fuzzy around the edges, as though the torrents of snow outside have managed to infiltrate my head. 

Something brushes my leg and I startle, looking down to see a young girl, her hair in two pigtails and a playful grin on her unblemished face as she moves past me to press her hands against the window. She watches as fat, heavy snowflakes patter against the glass in a silent melody, perfectly suspended in time before melting away, into nothing.

“Take her, for example,” the woman across from me says, her face devoid of emotion as she watches the young child squeal in delight. “What will she grow up to be?”

What a strange question. “How should I know?”

“Well, that’s my point. We don’t know. It’ll be her choice.” The woman leans back in her seat, her features wavering as I blink away the spots beginning to obscure my vision. “She can either allow herself to be a nobody, just another girl in a sea of ordinary, unremarkable people, or she can be like us. Judging by the looks of things, she won't equate to much.”

I frown. “That’s not fair. She’s only a child.”

“So? What does it matter? You were once a child, same as I.” She gestures at the old woman. “And same as her.”

I stare at her, uncomprehending. Before I can ask what she means, the little girl turns away from the window, almost colliding with my suitcase. Instinctively, I reach out to steady her. She blinks up at me with big brown eyes, her smile still intact despite her near fall. I release her slowly, my hands oddly cold.

The little girl takes a step past me, looking up at the older woman, who had been quietly watching our interaction. Without saying a word, she reaches down and slips the teddy bear into the little girl's waiting hand, closing her fingers around the ratty bear. She beams at the older woman before skipping away, back over to her mother and father, who hoist her up in their arms. She burrows into her father’s chest, the teddy bear nestled in the crook of her arm.

My vision becomes even blurrier, everything swimming in nauseating waves. I feel as though I’m treading water, trying to breach a surface that remains forever just out of reach. Trying to pick something to focus on, I look at the old woman, noting her wistful smile.

Another announcement sounds through the airport, and again I try to listen, to no avail. 

When I look back at the old woman, she’s looking straight at me. “Do you recognise her?” Her expression hardens. “It’s not too late,” she whispers. 

I close my eyes, fighting to stay grounded.

“Ma’am?” 

My gaze slides to the younger woman, but she’s scowling at her phone, paying no attention to me. 

“Ma’am? Ma’am?”

I gasp, heart beating against the cage of my ribs as my vision finally clears, revealing the same customer service agent from before staring down at me. My senses flood back in, and I blink up at him, as dazed as though I’d just emerged from a dream. My phone is buzzing violently in my hand, the screen lit up with an incoming call. 

“Are you Anna Fowler?” The agent asks me.

I swallow, my throat dry and scratchy as I croak out, “Yes...?”

“We’ve been calling you on the speakers for the past ten minutes. Your flight is about to depart.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “What? But what about the blizzard?”

He gives me an odd look, as though I’d just asked him what year it is-though I’m so discombobulated I’m actually tempted to ask him just that. “What blizzard?”

What? I straighten, turning in my seat to look out of the window to see clear skies, painted with wisps of gold and pink as the sun bows, making way for the approaching moon. A thin layer of snow glistens, on the tarmac, on the trees beyond the runway, on the outstretched wings of the waiting planes. There is no sign of the howling snowstorm, no indication of any storm to come. “But-” I turn to the old woman to my left, searching for proof that I didn’t imagine it, but find the seat empty. The younger woman is also gone, as is the little girl with her parents. 

What? I place a hand on the vacated seat, finding the plastic cold to the touch. There is no trace of anybody having been there at all. 

“Ma’am,” the agent says again. “This is your last chance to board. Are you coming?”

“No.” The word doesn’t so much as come out of my mouth as it does fall out. I don’t even have to think about it. “No, I changed my mind.”

“Are you sure? I can't guarantee your ticket will be refunded.”

I shake my head firmly. “I don’t care.” I watch as he returns to his post at the desk before shifting my gaze to the phone in my hand, still vibrating. I accept the call. “Hello?”

“Anna, is that you?” My assistant’s voice is panicked, and I can hear her frantically shushing the sound of raucous laughter in the background. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see your call earlier. Is everything okay?”

“I…I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, Kelsey,” I say to her. “And that I want you to take an additional week off.”

Silence stretches between us. Then, “Really? Are you sure?”

I nod, even knowing she can’t see it. “Really. Spend time with your family. You deserve it.”

Another brief silence. “Thank you.” More laughter ripples from her end of the line. “You deserve it too, Anna.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I’ll see you in the New Year.” I hang up, staring straight ahead at nothing in particular for several long moments. 

Then I stand, gather my things, and head for the exit, shooting off one last message as I flag down a taxi. 

I’m on my way.