I started the four hour drive back to Miami around noon. I was in a better mood than on my way to Miami Thursday evening. It was good to spend time with my parents and with my brother Shawn. The drive to Orlando was an ordeal and I was loaded with anxiety. Now my load was lighter. Now it felt more like a road trip. I ate greasy barbecue, drank diet root beer and drove really fast. I figured if I got a ticket I could probably talk my way out of it. ("I wanted to spend more time with my mom, she's dying of cancer.") But I was lucky and I managed to not be speeding whenever I saw state troopers.
At 3:00 pm, I called American Airlines as they'd suggested to try and confirm my standby seat. Of course, now the flight was much more crowded and they couldn't give me a confirmation. There were four seats left --no, wait, make that three-- and only three hours to go before the scheduled departure. After spending time on the phone with the reservation agent and her supervisor, there really weren't any other good alternatives for getting to San Francisco. I woudl either get on this flight or I'd be stuck somewhere between Miami and home.
I hit massive traffic 20 miles from the airport and now I was getting worried. I got to the airport and eventually an agent named Charlie checked me in. I told him my story and he put me at the top of the standby list, which was nice. I felt like I was going to cry, and maybe he felt sorry for me. By the time I found my way to the right terminal and cleared security another hour had gone by and the flight was supposed to be boarding.
Unfortunately, there was another flight boarding in our gate, and the flight to San Francisco was delayed by thirty minutes, then an hour and finally an hour and a half. I was still at the top of the standby list, but I was increasingly nervous. I called my wife and now she was trying to see if there was any way out of Miami to San Jose or even Oakland on American. There were no flights through LAX, Chicago, Denver or Phoenix. The best she found was an American flight to Vegas followed by a US Air flight to San Francisco that would be in around 1:30 am for $175.
There were still some of the presenters from my company in Miami so I figured it might be easier to bunk up in Miami, get a decent night's sleep and then head out first thing Sunday morning. I sent text messages to half a dozen people and eventually located one of my buddy's Kaj who said we could figure something out if we had to.
Eventually I asked the gate agent and she came through with a seat assignment for me.
"Thank you," I whispered. It was all I could say. Otherwise I was going to just fall to pieces.
When I finally got on the plane I put on my iPod and I listened to some more Ziggy Marley. It was all I could do.
Despite the crying baby in the seat behind me, I slept for most of the flight. We arrived around 11:30, two hours late. I got my car and drove the hour and a half back to Santa Cruz, stopping at In-N-Out Burger since I hadn't eaten dinner.
I made it most of the way home without a hitch, but about five miles from the house, I lost it again and started crying. Even thought I was coming home, I felt this sense of aloneness, of loss that tore into me.
It was around 1:30 am when I got home. My wife was still up and we talked for a while. Then we went up stairs and she put on some music. We danced and we made love. And I held her in my arms for a long time.
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