Clap When You Land(40)
What am I going to do with a sister?
She’ll have to sleep in my bed.
She’ll probably have that gringa Spanish & require me to translate for her.
She’s probably a comparona who will expect me to cook & clean.
Well, I will fling her back to the States like a bat out of a cueva if she doesn’t act right. I should have never offered to help.
It is wrong, I know; my sister is not a comparona.
She seems kind, & thoughtful. The pain in her eyes is a twin for the ache in mine.
I am so afraid of liking her.
Of wanting her to be my family.
My heart cannot afford any more relatives.
I realize too late I’ve bitten off half the polish on my thumbnail.
Now my manicure looks like un relajo.
I try to bite the rest of the polish off so at least my nails will match. But it was a stupid reflex; now I have five fucked-up nails instead of one.
Don Mateo pulls the car up to the terminal, but I can’t get out. I reach for the handle, but it’s like my hand gets stuck there. I can hear my breath shudder in & out of my body, loud in my ears.
“I can take you back home, Camino.
It’s okay if I’m a little late for work.
I’m sure the officials will understand.”
I shake my head & roll my shoulders.
I’ve faced worse things than an airport.
I’ve survived worse things than are behind those doors.
“Thank you, Don Mateo. I’ll be okay.”
He raises his bushy eyebrows & pats me softly on the arm.
When I’m at the airport entryway
I stop completely still. My feet feel stuck.
The last time I was here. The last time I was here was not so long ago. It was a day just like today.
It was the day that changed everything.
I am not sure if I can go inside.
Although I brace myself, I am not ready for the wave of grief
that smacks me in the face
as I enter through the airport doors.
I immediately find the screen with information.
The plane should be landing in twenty minutes.
The information is right there,
with a gate number & everything.
There is an excited crowd of folks waiting for family, but none of them are crying. There is no one weeping, no loud upset yelling. The excitement & love & anxiety is like a breathing being in the terminal.
I feel like I am trying to reconcile two very different pictures. My heart wants to make them whole, but my brain knows my father will not walk through those doors; my brain does not know if my sister will.
What if something happens? Takeoff & landing are the most dangerous parts of flight.
Ugh! I want to smack myself for even thinking it— I watch the monitor, counting down the minutes until descent. It feels closer to twenty hours.
& then the board clears. No new information.
My hands begin to shake, my breathing uneven.
Did something go wrong? Did something happen?
I grab a man in an airport uniform, but I can’t get out the words to ask him. I simply point up at the board. His annoyance shifts & he gently pats my hand; he must understand what I haven’t said. “It landed just fine. I think they are simply trying to update the arrival gate.
A breath I didn’t know I’d bitten whooshes through my teeth.
Before I know it, people trickle out of customs.
Everything seems so normal, so unlike six weeks ago.
They’ve all moved on. Or were never moved
in the first place.
People in business suits holding briefcases.
Tall, shapely women in high heels
& bedazzled jeans, grand-looking do?as with mahogany canes & skirt suits.
& finally a beautiful girl, with tight curls: A morenita with a pink duffel in her hand
looking pensive & determined.
It is almost as if she does not imagine there will be anyone there waiting for her.
Her eyes do a sweep of the people
but pass right by me. A second later she looks back.
Tears fill my eyes. I stare at the ceiling lights until the sting recedes.
When I look back down she is standing before me.
I was never afraid of flying in the past.
But today, the rise of the plane made my stomach plunge.
I had a middle seat, & the woman beside me kept the window shade open the entire time.
I peeked once & saw the huge blue ocean below us.
I kept my eyes shut completely after that.
Even when the flight attendant asked if I wanted juice.
Even when the man next to me farted loudly.
Even when the pilot said we were descending.
& there was a moment when the wheels first touched down that my heart plummeted in my chest, but then we were slowing & a smattering of passengers erupted into applause.
The old lady in the seat beside me said in Spanish, “They don’t do that as much anymore. This must be a plane of Dominicans returning home;
when you touch down on this soil, you must clap when you land.
Para dar gracias a dios. Regrezamos.” & I smiled back.
Although I’ve flown in the States for different tournaments, this is my first time in another country.
In the airport, the messages are bilingual.