It’s the second of August, 3 in the morning, beeping alarms and cell phones. Get up, get up, get up. The car will be here at 4.
Up by 3:15. A slow bowl of cereal, and I think someone made eggs. I may have eaten some…
The passenger seat is my seat for this ride, from Santuario to Pereira. The sun is still quite down. I don’t sleep, but I would like to. Later, I will sleep on the plane, won’t I?
It’s 5:15 and the driver lets my husband and I out at the turn-off to the airport. Only specified taxis can drop people off at the airport, there are charges otherwise. We walk a quarter mile to the terminal, the sun has yet to arrive. 5:30 and I am one of the last to make it for the flight to Miami. Now to get the bags checked; she will go through each one and look at my paintings for a short second, wonder to herself why I have packed a crepe grill in my bag (but not too much wondering as she’s seen a lot of things go over the border) and not find anything that isn’t allowed to be there. Get my ticket, Hector is translating, I am tired, say goodbye and through emmigration I go.
I picked a window seat, the better to rest my head.
But sleep is spurts of coming to, realizing my mouth is hanging open and neck sore and I don’t like my mouth hanging open like that, grumble. Did I eat? I had a banana. Cartagena looks nice.
We stopped at the Caribbean city for an hour. Can’t get off the plane, more spurts of dormiendo. That’s Spanish for sleeping.
2.5 hours to Miami. What a short flight. It’s so close. We’re all so close. By 1:30 pm Miami time, I am through customs, I have my bags, its time to wait.
Wait for family. Hector’s brother’s mother is picking me up after she gets off work, so I have five hours to kill. I read EW’s article on Eat, Pray, Love. There are other articles that pass the time. I think about buying a magazine, think better of it. My bank card number was used for gas in Oakland a couple of weeks ago, at least, it was used for a hundred dollars worth of something at a gas station. How did this happen? The lady on the help-line had a few explanations. Now my card won’t work. Now I don’t have access to my funds. Now I have to fill out a form to get my funds back. Now I can’t stay at a hotel like I wanted, eat like I wanted, go as I wanted. I am at the kindness of strangers and they make room for me in their schedule, their time and place. She is a nice, interesting, sexy lady. I learn more about what family can mean.
There was a mix up and my ticket to Miami was scheduled for a day earlier than needed. So a day to still, no, not kill. I use buses to make my way to South Beach, where I almost lived. With an ex, an almost from history. I walk plenty and there are sexy people and many signs of a slowed economy. It’s hot and not much shade. I’m not one for tanning, and I parcel out my money to afford a croissant with eggs. Eggs being cheap and good protein.
The next morning I am up at 4.
It’s too early for my hostess to wake, her pet chihuahuas bark here and there. ‘Shhhh, SHHHH.’ There are three buses to catch, and a metrorail. I have two suitcases at weight capacity and a 30 minute walk for the first bus. My flight is at 8:30. I am hoping I make it.
But I don’t make it, far. A baggage wheel brakes and now I am dragging one of the bags. I’m not even half way to the first bus stop. I go back, wake my host. Sorry. Sorry. But I will not make it this way, and thank God I won’t, as it starts to downpour. Small blessings, and we make it out the door at 6:45. First drop off her daughter to the babysitter (Thank You), then traffic, morning traffic (Thank You), and to the right terminal at 7:35 (Thank You, I’m sorry, now RUN).
I make the plane. I buy a banana with the money I have left. I won’t be eating on the plane, as they only accept plastic. Not cash. This will make me smirk hours later, that cash here seems to be losing weight and use.
I befriend the person sitting next to me. His name is Jayden and he is 4. He trusts me enough to sleep with his head kind of in my lap for much of the 5.5 hour flight. I have more spurts of sleep with head bobbing, neck sore, mouth open and closing. I like the kid, though. I want to be a dad.
When he wakes up, he takes a second to remember me, and by the end of the flight he is happy to sit in my lap and look out the window. I’ll say goodbye to him and his grandma in Seattle. One last leg to go.
I’m angry and I’m at the Seattle airport. I’m surprised I am angry. Angry for going back, for things not being different enough. For some things being the same. Old hurts, no doubt exacerbated by lack of sleep – this might be too much baggage for the flight. Will I get fined? Will they let me on? Let it go, let it go. Eat your sandwich Ben, and let it go.
On the plane again, on my way again. An uneventful flight, unlike last time. Bags, a friend, a smile… rest. The fourth of August, 4:30 pm.
Days later… Some kind of rest, but not too much. I’ve been sleeping more, mouth closed (I think). But rest, a full nights rest, isn’t here yet. Internal clock isn’t set yet, my husband isn’t here yet, I haven’t made any art yet…
It will happen, tho. It’s all gonna be alright, and sleep will come.
