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Last
night I went to the San Francisco airport
with my parents. We were there to meet my
Uncle Dennis, Aunt Ivy and cousin June who
were flying in from Vancouver. Uncle
Dennis is my father's younger brother and
even though they talk to each other all
that much during the year, when the
holidays come around either we go to
Vancouver to visit them, or they come to
San Francisco to see us.
Since
my father always insists on getting to the
airport at least a half hour before we
need to be there, we had lots of time to
wait. I had my journal with me so I
decided to walk around a bit and see if I
could write some "word sketches" of the
people who were coming and going. (A word
sketch is like a photograph taken of
something as it whizzes past... except you
use a few words instead of film. So the
idea is to "catch" some part of the
essence of a person you don't know, just
by observing them for a moment and writing
something about what you observed. My
English teacher last year taught us how to
do it. It's actually fun.)
I
opened my journal, sat on the gray carpet
with my back against one of those enormous
pillars and watched the people coming and
going. Everyone was in such a hurry they
didn't notice me staring at them as they
passed, which was good. That way I could
catch them without them noticing I was
watching them. Here's what I saw and
heard:
A
bearded man with a red turban leans
against a nearby pillar in the TWA
terminal. He's swaying and chanting. The
turban is the only thing traditional about
him (not counting the chanting, of
course.) Otherwise he looks like a regular
guy, wearing jeans and a back pack. He's
also got a quilted jacket to protect him
from the cold. His chanting probably
protects him from the evils of the
world.
A
woman with long corkscrew curls lounges by
the pay phones. She's wearing burgundy
slacks and matching burgundy jacket and
leans against a guitar case while talking
on the phone. She's laughing and moving
her free hand as if the person on the
other end can actually see her. I wonder
who she's talking to? Her mother,
boyfriend, roommate?
The
businessman using the phone beside Blondie
is in a gray trench coat. His hair is
thinning and as he speaks, stress lines
his face. He balances the receiver
awkwardly between his ear and his
shoulder. There's a white paper coffee cup
on the ledge and he takes notes on the
back of an envelope.
A
girl with unlikely red hair bops by,
carrying a little walk-man, her head wired
for sound.
An
overweight woman with frizzy gray hair
talks to her equally pudgy husband. They
compare tickets with a young woman who
appears to be their daughter, though she
is a head taller than either of them, with
long straight blond hair.
"Your
attention please. Change in Gate
Assignments... Continental Airlines Flight
156 to Cleveland will now depart from Gate
32."
An
African American woman, lugging two
suitcases and a shoulder bag seems to be
walking on tired feet stuffed into too
tight shoes.
It's
already 11:20 pm. People are looking
really tired.
Two
Hispanic men walk by.
"Remmy
Bartemko... Remmy Bartemko to the white
courtesy telephone, please."
An
Asian guy in glasses seems to be in a big
hurry.
Airports
are always a place of comings and goings.
Saying hello. Saying good-bye.
If
you just looked at the feet you'd think
that everyone in the world is now wearing
running shoes. Backpacks are very popular
too. People on the run want to be able to
get to their ultimate destination quickly
and be able to carry whatever they can on
their backs while keeping their hands free
for... who knows what?
"TWA
Flight number 209 has just landed.
Passengers will be disembarking through
Jetway 28."
A
very serious and intellectual looking
African American woman strides by with
long long braids all over her head. She
must be a college professor, or at the
very least, a graduate student.
There
are a bunch of excited kids running
around. If they were home it would be way
past their bedtimes, but because they are
in an airport they are jazzed. Maybe their
parents actually succeeded in getting them
to take a nap this afternoon. Clearly they
are on their second or third power burst
of the day.
When
my father's brother arrives with his
family there are lots of squeals and
shouts and hugs and kisses. The grown-ups
are very happy to see each other and
everyone is talking at once. My little
cousin June is so cute, but she's a bit
shy with me. I get the feeling that we're
going to be friends anyway, though it may
take a day or two.
On
the way home, in the back seat of the
darkened car, June falls asleep with her
head leaning against my arm. As we pass
underneath the freeway lights her sweet
face is lit up. Her skin is smooth as a
doll's and her too long bangs making a
curtain over her little eyebrows.
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