You know those visits from friends that you count down the days? The ones that are decades old? The ones you needn’t catch up on everything because you fit the friendship like a well-loved sweater and faded pair of jeans? That’s my friend, Jill.
We met in preschool in the 80s, shared a love of leggings, fluorescent shirts, and scrunchies in the early 90s, and then survived her family moving when we were 10 years old through pen pal letters and annual visits. But this isn’t a story about her move, it’s a story about one of her visits when we were in our 20s. I had worked late Thursday, ensuring that my lesson plans were ready to go for the following week. My class packed up, the bell rang, and I walked out 15 minutes after they did, a rare occurrence in my second year teaching. Smiling, I tossed my trusty teacher bags in the backseat, turned up the radio, and hit the road. With little traffic on the highway so early on a Friday afternoon, I was going to be early - also a rare occurrence. Flight landed on time. I’m here! came the text. We’re deboarding now. See you soon! My family have developed the routine of looping around through arrivals - parking until we’re yelled at to keep moving, driving up to the next section until we’re pushed along again, and looping around until our arrivee exits the airport. Jill was used to this procedure. And so, receiving Jill’s text, I made my way to the arrivals loop. Heading out! came her next text. Great! I’m just starting a loop. I’ll go slow. I responded. Exit 2B. See you soon! 2B was still up ahead, so I breezed past 1C, and 2A before slowing and parking. I scanned the crowd. Tap, tap, came the hand on the window. “Move on.” I rolled the passenger window down. “I’m actually picking up my friend. She just came out and should be walking up now.” “You see her?” I craned my neck. “Not yet.” “Move on then.” I groaned and put the window up. I cruised through all the 3, 4, and 5 exits, looped around, and headed back into arrivals. 2B. Still no Jill. Odd. Tap, tap. The same woman. “I know, I know. I’ll keep going.” I dialed Jill. “Hey, are you out here? I was just at 2B and didn’t see you. They made me drive around.” “Yep, I’m here. I’ll wait,” Jill said. Drive, loop, enter arrivals, call again. “Okay, I’m pulling up to 2B. I still don’t see you. Are you sure you’re at 2B?” I asked. “Sure am, I’m here. I’ll wave my hand. There’s not a lot of people around. You literally can’t miss me.” I looked at the crowd of people in front of me. Was I the one at the wrong exit? I checked the sign: 2B. “Okay, I’m literally parked right at the beginning of 2B. I don’t see you anywhere. There’s a ton of people,” I said, exasperated. And then it hit me. “Jill… what airport are you at?” “Midway. Why?” I closed my eyes and groaned. Of course. She always flies into O'Hare, but this was a work trip, paid for by work. She must have flown Southwest. “Well…” I paused. “I’m at O’Hare.” Tap, tap. “I know, I know. I’ll pull around.”
1 Comment
Sara Tomasevich
4/4/2022 08:20:09 pm
So funny! I love this slice! I have also been victim of the tap, tap...move on!
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March 2022
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