“Everything but the Bagel”

Everything but the Bagel {or, The End is the Beginning & and the Beginning is the End?}                                                                  

“I like your backpack” I thought as I followed the stranger onto the airport shuttle. I had a plan when I got here, but that plan was disintegrating with each step. Follow your heart I had thought, or maybe I thought I heard……from that internal voice that whispers and tugs at your heart, but logic requires otherwise. I had arrived in one piece after frantically deciding to follow this whisper of a dream, one Saturday afternoon, when I should have been tackling the cough syrupy monotony of everyday life. Middlebelt-Metropolitan’s concrete jungle met me with welcoming parking deck arms. How I had gotten here was partly a mystery to me, and partly some sort of unfulfilled deep subconscious drive to feel alive again. The point was, I was here. Taking in every sound and detail around me, I sat holding the wilting box of pastries that had accompanied this whim. A garlic-filled croissant, a chocolate macaroon, a rose-frosted sugar cookie, and an asiago bagel; my silent doughy partners in crime. Maybe I should have felt embarrassed. But I did not. I dreamt of this two years ago. I had dreamt a version of these moments; etched in gray matter for later use.  

In the dream, I had been elsewhere, in that way that dreams do. Where you see a place and know you are there but can’t quite determine the outlines. I had been walking side by side with a stranger in the dream, this was more like following. The stranger with the red backpack. I stood in line at the shuttle area and followed gingerly behind.

I almost got on a different shuttle bus, but then I saw him – or more like sensed him. A quiet energy, but intense. I recognized the energy, but it was more subdued than I remembered. This is it, I thought; this matches with my dream – this must lead to something. I wasn’t too concerned where at the moment. By this time, I accepted the day had taken a different course and I wouldn’t be found where I was ‘supposed’ to be. Its not that moms don’t get days off I thought as I surveyed the landing area and made my decision. Its just that when we do, its always for something else. Something else someone needs, something else we ‘should’ be doing, something else to ‘keep up’ with what’s coming for the week, so life doesn’t pull apart at the seams. The ‘whisper’ had suggested that if I got confused to follow the “acts of service” – that part hadn’t been in my dream. This made me question whether to listen, but I figured I may need some pointers at some point in this puzzle. A lady was helping a man in a wheelchair get onto the shuttle, an act of service – so I followed that path. 

The shuttle was emptier that you would expect on a weekend. I sat in the back, the corners of the pastry box starting to object to their unexpected travels. Red backpack sat on the side. I tried to contain the mystery I felt; how could I be experiencing what I dreamed, now – in real life? 

I followed Red backpack through the terminal, making sure not to get too close, but not wanting to lose sight of this real life mystery. His energy remained composed, although calmer than I was used to – almost unnerving. I noticed he wore a red string bracelet, oddly it reminded me of the red root chakra necklace I had at home. He paused near the baggage claim area, reviewing the incoming flights. I lost sight after that; and wandered to the first floor. Reclaiming my perch on the plastic line of seating, I checked on my weary companions, looking for a sacrifice. The frosted rose cookie gave up first. I hadn’t eaten since the morning and it was well past dinner – without a boarding pass or any real destination, I was stuck in the waiting area, without many options. Some sort of tournament must have been going on that weekend – I never did really pay attention to sports – because I kept seeing groups of men and women all wearing their home team shirts or jackets. I stayed for awhile in the area I felt comfortable then moved down farther to the end of the terminal, starting to wonder what exactly I had come here for. Luckily, I had a book to read, which passed the time and made it feel effortless. Eventually, a women sat down with me, she had just flown in from Texas, and we chatted for a bit. It made the time pass. I had just devoured the poor bagel’s cream cheese counterpart with a combination of my fingers and a plastic knife; any more carbs and I would pass out. I was ok looking a little strange with only myself, my purse and my pastry box, but I wasn’t ready to completely embarrass myself. I offered her a pastry since the box was open and I didn’t want to be rude. Who doesn’t love a weird interaction with a stranger who has snacks, I thought. She accepted and seemed genuinely appreciative of the offer. We talked about seemingly random interactions often being the best kind. Then she asked me if I was meeting someone, and I said yes. “Man or woman?” she asked. “A man…..I think,” I responded hesitantly. Up to this point, I hadn’t acknowledged to myself, that I didn’t really know why I was there….other than I was now retracing dream steps in real life. But who would believe that if I said it aloud. “Is that safe?” she asked. Oof; reality starting to sink in. “Well, a friend is helping…” I said, actually believing that to be true. “So your friend is helping the person you’re meeting?” she asked again, suspicious. “Yes, she’ll let me know if its okay.” “Oh, so you have some sort of code then?” she must have felt satisfied with that response, and added, “sort of like ‘You’ve Got Mail’ the movie”? I guess, I thought to myself. I didn’t really know at this point. Now I was painfully aware of how naïve and ridiculous I looked. Part of me still didn’t care; another part of me was cringing at my carelessness. We talked a little more, and she went on her way. I sat blushing at my silliness – why WAS I here? It had been a long time now……it was closer to 7 or 8pm, I checked my watch. Something told me to wait a little longer. My book was good, so that was fine, and I might as well see how this plays out. Everything has a reason. 

By 11:30pm, my interest in the book was starting to wane, and I was over it. In fact, I felt used. From whom or what I didn’t know; but something had convinced me to come here, and now I was mad at it. I dumped the bagel (the only remaining survivor) in the trash, immediately wondering if I would regret that decision in the morning and left the terminal. Then the real fun began. I couldn’t find my car. I could picture exactly where I had parked, but everywhere I turned, nothing looked the same. My blood sugar was dropping with my mood and this was getting old. I kept circling and circling making it worse. Finally, I gave up and went to the adjoining hotel and checked in. I laughed to myself when I kept hearing “Hotel California” in my head. Hopefully not. The hotel was beautiful and much nicer than anywhere I had stayed in so long. I missed travelling and it made me miss my mom, who was the OG travelling connoisseur. She would have loved this experience. I’m glad she’s in a better place, but once in awhile I wish I could share mother-daughter moments with her like we used to years ago when things were okay. I try not to think about those days, its too painful, but I know I have to. I choose to try to remember the better days instead, because the memories are all you really have in the end. But I couldn’t worry about that now, and I still was slightly intrigued by the mystery. I checked in and tried to avoid the amount I knew I was charging on my already taxed credit card. Maybe this will be worth it, I thought. In a way, in a very beautiful, painful way, it was. It was 2:00 a.m., I tossed everything on the softa and crawled into the fluffy, bleached linen bed. There is something about the feeling of hotel for me; the ‘work’ stops for a minute; no one you have to take care of, for just a second. For a brief moment, its just you and a room you don’t have to clean, you don’t have to be responsible for. And coffee. 

I was so tired I wasn’t interested in watching TV, but the hotel channel is what caught my eye. My name was spelled with all lower case letters, a nod to the past. I had changed my name, so I knew only a few people would understand what the lower-case letters meant. I wasn’t wrong – the narrator of the channel was Red backpack. It was like an out of body experience, I knew what was happening, but how could it be. I woke up the next morning and enjoyed my hotel-Keurig Starbucks coffee, stuffed the remaining decaf option and the paper cups in my purse, trying to make myself look presentable for the late check out. Smiling, I checked out, slightly amazed and slightly annoyed that I still didn’t know why I was here. 

The lobby was beautiful, so I sat for awhile and enjoyed the view, still thinking maybe there was a point to all this. Familiar faces that I had seen the night before passed, and everyone was starting to look familiar. Maybe it was the sugar from yesterday clouding my judgment. 

No one ever showed, and maybe they were not supposed to. I felt stupid for wishing on a dream, but it was too enjoyable to be that upset. We have to have hope sometimes and silly wishes keep us going. Later, I did find my car and the parking fees to prove it. 😊