One month passed by quickly, as months tend to do when you're older. Not that the nature of time has changed – that would be physically impossible – but rather your perception of time has changed. As I've gotten older, I've felt that days have gotten shorter and weeks and years even more so. When you were younger, an hour, especially if you were bored, dragged on like a never-ending day.
I left my shift the Friday morning of the school reunion and headed over to change in the business-class lounge. Another perk of half living at an airport: the receptionists in the lounges let you use the plush changing rooms and bathrooms to freshen up, when they aren't too busy, of course.
The name of the receptionist at Middle East Air's business-class lounge was Blessing. International tourists are always fascinated by his name, even though names like Blessing, Patience, Evidence and Fortune are commonplace here. Blessing always tried to strike up a conversation with me whenever I came in. I was always relieved, though, when his idea of a conversation was a one-way monologue in which he gossiped in hushed tones about the goings-on of the air- port. The airport really was its own unique ecosystem. Like a small city that has been shut off from the rest of the world, inhabited by an endless variety of people, from shop owners to security to cleaning staff to management staff, pilots, air traffic controllers and police. Personally, I've only gotten to know a few people over the last two
years but, for some reason, Blessing seems to have fully immersed himself in the airport ecosystem.
'Soooo.' He leaned over the desk and looked at me. I'd learned that this long and protracted 'sooo' was a sign that the gossip was about to commence. I was pleased that it was such a distinctive- sounding word, with such a distinctive tone and delivery; it made it much easier for me to read. I readied myself.
'Did you hear about the woman that gave birth to a baby midair last week?'
'Yes.' I nodded triumphantly. This I did know. I never knew any- thing he talked about, but this I knew, because Barry, a fellow ATC, had dealt with the emergency.
'She named the baby after the pilot – how sweet is that?' Bless- ing placed a hand on his chest and swooned. I hadn't realized he was so enamored with babies. Well, to be fair, I'd observed that most people had a fondness for babies and that when they spoke about them their voices usually took on a soft, sing-song quality and their pupils dilated somewhat. I did not harbor those same feelings about babies.
'I'm sure the flight attendant actually did more to ensure that baby's safe entry into the world. They are, after all, trained in basic first aid, including infant delivery, should the need arise,' I said. It was a very logical conclusion. The pilot would have been flying the plane, not attending to the baby. Blessing looked deflated for a moment and I realized the error of my ways. I went on, 'But I'm sure he landed that plane as quickly as possible and he would have radi- oed ahead for medical assistance.'
My response perked Blessing up again, and he continued. 'Did you hear about Louise at the coffee shop?'
'Which coffee shop?' There were twenty here.
'The Grind.'
'Aaaah, yes, next to Domestic Arrivals.' I knew it, even though it wasn't my coffee shop of choice, Express Espresso.
'Anywaaaaay' – another lengthened vowel sound – 'she's having a secret tryst with that waiter from the steak place at the international terminal.'
'Which steak place?'
'A Cut Above.'
I shook my head. A Cut Above. Another play on words. I'd noticed
that this was an incredibly popular device when it came to the naming of restaurants, coffee shops, retail facilities and advertizing agencies. I disliked names like these. I was also not a fan of restaur- ants called things like 'The Blue Olive' or 'The Singing Avocado'. Because, clearly, olives are not blue and avocados do not sing.
'I don't know anyone from A Cut Above,' I said. 'Nor have I ever been to A Cut Above.' And what cut were they referring to? What was their cut above? Sirloin, fillet, ribeye? There were many cuts. And so many unanswered questions.
'Well, anywaaaay,' Blessing continued, with another extended vowel, 'Angela from the Asia Pacific business-class lounge told me that late one night Lungile from Baggage Handling found them canoodling in the Lost and Found room.'
'What was Angela from the Asia Pacific business-class lounge doing in the Lost and Found room?' This seemed like the most interesting part of the story, to be honest.
'One of their first-class passengers lost their Montblanc pen. Apparently, it's some very rare limited edition. Ruby-encrusted or made out of unicorn ivory.' He rolled his eyes, and I did the same, even though I wasn't sure what he was trying to convey with that ocular gesture.
'Scandalous, isn't it?' he said, clapping his hands together.
I clapped mine together too, even though I took little delight in this story. Don't get me wrong, I really liked Blessing and appreci- ated that he wanted to tell me stories, especially because they involved the people around me. It did in some small way make me feel included and connected to something bigger than myself.
'Anyway, where're you off to today? You're looking a little too glamorous to be heading home.'
I blushed and touched my hair and face. I'd released my hair from its usual functional, pulled-backed bun. I'd then styled it into what the YouTube tutorial had called 'effortless waves'. It had not been effortless at all. In fact, I'd put so much time and effort into twisting that hair straightener back and forth to create those waves I was sure I had carpal tunnel syndrome in my fingers. I'd also done a full face of make-up on myself, a painstaking job that had taken far too long. Once again, the YouTube tutorial's name had been very misleading. The look was called 'The Clean Girl Look', and when I saw the fin- ished product it looked as if there was hardly any make-up involved. But what I'd discovered midway through the arduous process was that trying to look like you were not wearing make-up actually required a lot more make-up than one expects. But, and I hate to admit to it, I wanted to look a little more 'put together' tonight, as my mom would say. My mother was always running late because she was busy 'putting herself together' in the bathroom, a phrase I'd found quite disconcerting as a child. I'd imagined her pulling on her arms and legs, maybe even screwing on her head.
A part of me wanted to impress my old schoolmates. Wanted them to see how I'd blossomed since school. Maybe even have them comment on it, even though that thought filled me with such awk- wardness that I physically cringed at the notion. And I also wanted to feel good about myself tonight. I hadn't felt good about myself as a teen. I'd been rail thin, angular and gangly, my knees the biggest part of my legs. I was ghostly pale, with upper-front-teeth protru- sions caused by excessive thumb-sucking as a child. My eternal clumsiness had also led to a crooked nose, from one of my many trip- ping accidents. Braces had corrected my teeth, my plastic surgeon father had fixed my nose at eighteen, exercise and the treatment of my hyperthyroidism had rounded me out nicely, and today I would say I was a solid eight out of ten. On some days, even a nine. The paleness, I could do nothing about – my mother's Irish roots, as she always said – but unlike her I'd refused to self-tan and had embraced my alabaster skin. In fact, I was very fond of it now, and the compari- sons to Sophie Turner over the years were most pleasing, since Game of Thrones was one of my favorite TV shows.
'It's my school reunion, so I . . .'
'Say no more!' Blessing said. 'As a gay black man, I feel your obvi- ous high-school pain.'
'How do you know I had high-school pain?' I enquired.
He eyed me up and down and then leaned against the reception desk. 'I just assumed, you know.'
'You know what?' I asked, not offended, but my curiosity defin- itely piqued.
'You didn't exactly fit in there, right?'
'No. I didn't. How did you know?'
Blessing shrugged. 'Call it the gift of intuition. I just get people.
Always have. Maybe it's because I see over two hundred different people walk through these doors a day, or maybe I was just born with the gift,' he said with a smile.
'Huh,' I replied thoughtfully, grateful for this newly acquired knowledge. Perhaps, in the future when I had a personal, human- related problem, I could come to Blessing. 'I shall remember that,' I said to him as I walked out. But as I crossed the threshold of the lounge and the automated glass doors began to close behind me I got it. I swung around with a triumphant swoosh.
'Because the pen can't be made of unicorn ivory, because unicorns are mythical creatures. They don't exist!' I pointed at Blessing and let out a laugh. 'But you could have said narwhal tusk to make it more authentic. Nonetheless, got it!' I turned happily and headed for my favorite coffee shop.