Tilly at the Airport (#1)
Six-inch heels attached to knee-high leather boots resonated in the cavernous sepulcher that just an hour ago had been a booming, busy airport. A mere 60 minutes ago, the legs attached to those heels had stretched out in front of their owner as she strode, heart pumping and hair flying, to make it to the next terminal. An electric blue scarf wrapped just once around her neck flew beside her like the wings of an earthbound bird struggling to takeoff. Her open, calf-length coat flapped beside her, and her backpack bounced into her spine with every touchdown of those heels. To no avail. Her connecting flight had departed.
Downhearted but not completely beaten, she rebooked a flight for tomorrow morning and then sought out a room for the night. It didn’t have to be a luxurious room and she didn’t really care if the bed vibrated. A coffee machine for the morning would be nice. But, as fate would have it, there was a convention in town. The hotel was replete with men in strange hats who greeted each other with secret handshakes that they attempted to hide, not always successfully, from the general population. Once again, there was no room at the inn.
And so, Tilly O’Malley sat alone and dejected on a hard-plastic seat, contemplating the eight hours that stretched out before her. Her gaze was met with a plethora of closed and locked shops and cafés. You would think that Tim’s at least would stay open for the cleaning staff. But it seemed that the overnight crew either supplied their own or went dry.
Overcome with a desire to share her misery, Tilly fb’d her daughter, Dakota, to speak of her dire situation.
T-Missed freaking connection. Stuck in airport. No rm, no nothing.
D-o no. when flight? How long w/o food?
T-tmrw am. 20 mins.
D-send search & rescue?
Tilly switched to newsfeed searching for virtual company. She was in luck, as several fb friends seemed to suffer from insomnia, or perhaps had nothing to get up for in the morning.
T-stranded at airport. no plane. no room. no coffee.
Bill (Toronto) –wtf!!! no coffee? how surviving?
T-inner strength
Chelsea (England)-what happened?
T-missed connection.
C-yr in my prayers.
Tim (brother in Ottawa)-have we seen you for the last time?
T-no such luck. Will survive. lol
Eventually, everyone had the basic facts and had pretty much run out of comments. Tilly looked dubiously at the molded plastic chairs, but being out of options, tossed her backpack onto the end seat. She stretched out on her side, but the rigid plastic wreaked havoc with her hip. She executed a tight turn onto her back but that wasn’t much better. Admitting once again that she wasn’t thirty, or even forty anymore, Tilly sat up and removed her coat and sweater. She folded the sweater neatly and placed it at the small of her back as she wriggled to get comfortable. She clutched her backpack to her chest, using her coat as a blanket. Time should really fly now, she thought to herself. She closed her eyes and tried to relax.
Twenty minutes later, Tilly admitted defeat, swung her legs down and pushed herself up. Any longer on those seats and she wouldn’t even be able to crawl to her flight. Her eyes scouted the terminal, waiting for some miraculous diversion to appear. Miracles don’t occur as often as they did in Biblical times.
Tilly ambled over to the shops. Window shopping was easy in the stores that sold books and souvenirs; they were simply locked. Daydreaming about exquisite jewels and exotic perfume was a little more difficult through the bars. She walked softly; the echo of her heels on the tiles only made her feel lonelier. Like the last person on earth.
So much for that distraction. She plunked herself down and pulled out her phone.
T-still at airport. still waiting. still bored.
C-poor you. music?
T-later. can’t waste charge.
B-must be plug somewhere.
T-yup.
Tilly signed off and wandered until she found a plug behind the Air Canada counter. Despite the solitude, she looked around guiltily and then smiled slyly. They owed her a little electricity for all her trouble. She plugged her phone in and stood behind the counter, enjoying the feeling of power from this side.
“Well sir, I don’t care if you are an Air Canada employee. You’ll just have to wait. This high school class is in front of you. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Thank you for your patience.”
“Madam, I’m so sorry for having overbooked your flight. It’s our pleasure to invite you to fly for free today.”
Preparing to allow someone on board with too much carry-on luggage, Tilly stopped short when confronted by a man and his mop. He kept his distance, unsure of the danger. Tilly wondered how long he had been standing there, and felt it was up to her to break the impasse.
“Hi. I’m missed my plane and the hotel is full.”
“Ah.” The cleaner relaxed. “This is bad.” And after another pregnant pause, “I clean bathrooms now.”
Tilly nodded and smiled weakly. “See you later.”
She slid her back down the wall and pulled her knees up to wait for her phone to charge.
It was a small comfort to know that she wasn’t completely alone, but it also cramped her style. She wouldn’t be dancing to “Old Time Rock ‘n Roll” à la Tom Cruise tonight.
Tilly had to pee. She wondered about the etiquette. Should she use a bathroom that hadn’t been cleaned, or should she christen one that was spic and span? The question itself was proof that the isolation and boredom were getting to her.
A few minutes later, exiting the still almost pristine washroom, Tilly heard the unmistakeable hum of the floor polisher. The same cleaner who previously toted a mop and bucket, now was now astride a riding floor polisher. He tossed her a friendly wave as he passed, keeping his distance. She waved back and tiptoed to a seat, attempting not to mar the freshly polished floor. She opened her tablet to Facebook.
T- still at airport.
No reply. The world was either offline and/or asleep. Tilly sighed and inserted the buds into her phone.
Tilly woke with a start. That meant she had been asleep. It must have been the music. She would have to charge her batteries again, but it felt good to know that some time had passed. She stood up and stretched, bending forward and backwards. She was deep in the middle of a forward bend, at a more acute angle than she was used to. Her knees were bent, and her hair brushed the floor. She grasped her knees and pushed up, trying to be kind to her no longer youngish back.
“Good morning, ma’am. Missed your flight, eh?”
Tilly thought that she really had to stop behaving as if she were at home. It was altogether too embarrassing. The teenage boy in front of her sported one of those insane, high-on-life grins —obviously a morning person.
“Yup.”
“Well, just give me a few minutes and the coffee will be ready.”
“Coffee? You have coffee?”
It was only then that Tilly saw the familiar brimmed cap. Just like in the commercials. Tim Horton. Tim was here and he was going to make coffee. A tear came to her eye.
“Do you need help with the coffee?”
“No, I have it covered.”
Noticing Tilly’s disheveled appearance, the young boy suggested that she might want to comb her hair while he put the coffee on. God, she must be a mess. A teenage boy was offering beauty advice. But what a wonderful boy he was.
She agreed and was walking toward the bathroom when he called after her.
“Would you like a bagel with your coffee, Ma’am?”
Tilly’s lips trembled and then parted in a maniacal grin. A bagel, this incredible boy was offering her food.
“A bagel would be lovely.”
The plane wasn’t due for another couple of hours, but Tilly knew that everything would be okay now from now on.