Page 15 of It's Not PMS, It's You

Some passengers kissed the ground before getting on the shuttle bus, but I opted to look up into the blue sky and whisper, “Thank you.”

The shuttle bus took us to a terminal close by where we were given bottles of water, cookies, and pretzels, although it didn’t look like many people cared about eating.

We waited there for hours while airline employees offered emotional support to whomever needed it. Just about everyone was on their phones at one time or another, arranging for pickups, letting loved ones know they were okay, but I just sat there staring, in shock.

My parents didn’t even know I went out of town, so they couldn’t have been worried about me, and Dee was probably too busy tackling my to-do list.

When they finally gave us the clearance to leave the secure area, everyone jumped to their feet and ran out as fast as they could to the baggage claim area where many friends and family members were waiting.

Hugs and kisses were exchanged.

Tears were shed.

News crews were on the scene, approaching passengers, trying to get interviews.

I stood there, looking around.

Everyone seemed to have someone, except for me.

I glanced around again and spotted an older woman standing by herself. If I had to guess, I would say she was around eighty years old. She stood there, head down, shoulders slumped, biting her fingernails as she waited for her bag to come out.

Just like me, all alone.

She glanced over in my direction, locking eyes with me.

A hint of a smile formed on her face and I forced a smile back at her.

“You are going to end up like me if you continue on the same path,” her eyes seemed to be saying. “Old and all alone.”

I was losing my mind.

Why would I end up like her?

Because your life is pathetic and you have nobody.

I glanced around the baggage claim area again, suddenly jealous of the couples who were holding hands, the families who were kissing and hugging, the smiles of relief and gratitude that they hadn’t lost that special someone they loved.

I glanced back over to the older woman, and for some unknown reason I walked in her direction.

I stopped next to her and gestured to the baggage carousel. “Do you need help looking for your bag?”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but I’m fine.” She pointed to a vintage avocado green suitcase that just passed us and was circling back around. “That’s my suitcase right there.”

“Oh . . .” I watched it disappear out of sight around to the other side. “Do you want me to grab it when it comes back around again?”

I had never offered to grab anybody’s bags because I was always in such a hurry. I admit that this was strange behavior on my part, and I wasn’t quite sure why I wasn’t in a hurry like I normally was.

The woman didn’t seem to be in a hurry either.

She shook her head. “That’s quite all right, dear. I’ll grab it when I’m ready.”

When she was ready? Ready for what? She wasn’t doing anything at all. She was all alone, and she wasn’t even on her phone.

What was she waiting for?

I nodded, not knowing what else to say to her, but for some reason still not feeling the urge to do anything else but stand next to her.

Was I that desperate for company?