Sweet Reunion

I sat there watching the people waiting for someone to come off the plane. Their is something about people watching that thrills me. I guess it comes from the artistic side of me. I get good story lines. I make stories up up on who is waiting for who, and watch as their emotions go from nervous anticipation to outright joy as they appear from the ramp.

One gentleman caught my eye this one particular time. He was wearing a suit and was carrying a bouquet of flowers. He paced back and forth as he waited for the plane to get to the gate. His pacing is what drew my attention to him in the first place. After awhile it was just him that I watched.

Were the flowers for his mother, an aunt, sister? niece, cousin? He looked nervous so I started to believe they were for a girlfriend, or perhaps a woman who as of now did not know that this man was deeply in love with her. Had they met at a far away place during vacation and were meeting for the first time in years? Perhaps it was an old girlfriend who had left to take a job in another state and they kept the relationship going while she was gone and he was going to propose to her. Did he have the ring in one of his pockets?

I can see him buying that ring. Silently questioning himself if this was really what he wanted, what she wanted. Was he only doing this thinking she would say yes, quit her job and just give up her life for him? Perhaps that was what the pacing was all about. In his mind he was asking himself if he was making a mistake. He was fighting himself. Of course he loves her, but does he love her enough to let her go or does he love her in a way that will stifle her ambitions and dreams?

The people started to disembark from the plane and when they saw their loved ones hugged, or just grasped a shoulder, or in the case of a teenager just a quick nod. I watched the flower bearing man and couldn't wait to see whom he was meeting. I was hoping it wasn't as simple as his Mother or Aunt. I wanted it to be a long lost love or long distance love. He paced as he waited, the people walking by him. He started to look at the entrance to the tunnel with eager yet pleading eyes. My heart pounded harder for him, my eyes looking, trying to will someone to run into his arms.

They were all gone; the airline personnel were closing the gate. He was alone. No one came running into his arms, no sweet reunion. He now seemed embarrassed when he noticed that I was sitting there. He still paced, but slower, looking at his watch. I still was trying to will the gates to reopen and for the airline to annouce that they had found one last person slleping in her seat, or maybe in the bathroom. But it wasn't happening and as I realized that sober thought he did as well. He stopped pacing, and just stood there looking at the gate. The look of nervousness was replaced by sadness. I felt for him. Should I go over to him and say that it was going to be all right? Maybe she missed her flight; maybe he should try to call her. But I just sat there and watched as he walked over to a garbage can and threw the flowers in. He took one more look at the gate and slowly walked away. I whispered to him "Sorry"