AN ACT OF KINDNESS CIRCUMVENTS A VACATION-ENDING CALAMITY
Photo by Jacob Narkiewicz on Unsplash
The trip had been close to perfect. A granddaughter’s graduation, a few rainy days at the lake with time for good books and long naps, a weekend with friends in their new home after years abroad.
But somewhere between farewell brunch and Reagan National Airport I had caught a soul-killing bug. Or a bug I’d picked up hugging school-age kids caught me. Whichever, by the time I got through security I was feeling feverish and wishing more for a bed than a window seat.
I bought a test kit to make sure it wasn’t covid, put on double-masks and scrunched against my window for one of the most uncomfortable flights I can remember. I ached, I sniffled, I tried not to cough. Six hours felt more like six days.
Finally on the ground in San Francisco I hooked my backpack onto my carry-on —at least I travel light! — and sped toward the Uber/Lyft pick-up zone. It’s on the top level of the parking garage so these rides can be kept separate from vans, buses and other pick-ups. I’ve done this often enough to know exactly where, once off the jetway, to stop and book my ride so that (hopefully) it will arrive not long after I get to the pick-up zone.
No such luck.
On reaching the garage top floor I was greeted by a mob scene of distraught Lyft and Uber riders trying to negotiate phones and luggage while struggling to find their cars or figure out what was going on. The next day I’d learn there had been a communication breakdown; at the time there were no explanations, just a log-jam of palpable anger and frustration.
I backed away from the crowd, still wearing my uncomfortable double mask, and saw on my app that my car had suddenly switched from showing right at the door to 17 minutes away. I wasn’t sure I’d live another 17 minutes in my debilitated state. It was getting close to midnight — long past midnight Eastern Time, which my body was still on.
“Excuse me,” said a calm voice. I looked up to see a pleasant, slightly gray-haired man carrying a small bag, a computer case slung over his shoulder.
“This is a zoo,” he said. “Do you want to come with me to find a cab?” I would have followed him anywhere.
“I don’t know what level the cabs are on,” I said. “It’s been a really long time since I took one.”
“Not a problem,” he said, grabbing my stacked bag. “I’ve done this before.”
Within minutes we had made our way back into the terminal and down to the proper level where signs pointed to the taxi line. There was a steadily moving line of cabs; a half-dozen passengers were moving calmly into one after another. It had taken us less than five minutes to get from the Lyft/Uber Zone to the front cab. I had said nothing except that I wasn’t feeling well and thus the masks.
“You take this one,” my rescuer said, handing my luggage to the driver at the head of the line.
“I cannot thank you enough,” I said as I shook his hand.
“You needn’t,” he said. “Just feel better soon.”
I gave my address to the driver, settling gratefully into the back seat. And felt better already.
As we pulled away from the curb I turned to see my benefactor climbing into the next cab. I don’t think he heard what I said.
It was “I love you.”