July 14, 2011

THIS, is how you stand in line...

Exactly ten days ago, on July the 4th, 2011, our nations Independence Day, I stood in line to get on a plane. My hair was up, in a soft French twist, accenting the sharp angels of my cheekbones as I held my head titled slightly upward. Around my neck was tied a silk, floral-printed scarf, with a delicate sheen that caught the sunlight beaming through the large tinted windows of Raleigh-Durham International Airport, Terminal 2. I brought up my hand smoothly, without haste, and adjusted the vintage cat-eye sunglasses sliding slowly down my nose. My “Teal We Meet Again” nails seemed to compliment my rouged cheeks, bright scarf, and tortoise-shell rims easily and completely, but without obvious preconception. And, with the same stroke of my hand, I followed the soft edge of the scarf around my neck and tightened its small knot slowly, slightly, hardly – almost, not at all.

My black patent hand bag, hanging freely from its long strap, tucked into the crook of my bent left arm, tapped lightly against my leg as I shifted my weight from heel to heel, as not to appear, or become, stiff. The firmly pressed hem of my jersey knit dress swayed ever so slightly, as if a hummingbird had flown past and, by the nature of its forever-beating wings, created the tiniest gust of wind. As the flight attendant reached out her pale, clammy hand to take my boarding pass, I took seven steps forward. The sound of my stilettos on the cold, faux marble floor rang through Terminal 2, not unlike wedding bells sounding through the quiet countryside on a Sunday afternoon.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven...

I do not know if anyone stopped, or looked, or even glanced in my direction, because I never looked back. After the fidgety flight attendant quickly ripped my ticket, I lifted my chin even more slightly, and boarded my one-way ride to New York City.

Of course, in reality, I was actually wearing jeans, a t-shirt, comfy flats, and had two huge carry-ons stuffed with everything that spilled out of my checked bags when I got to the airport. But still. If I weren't moving all of my possessions to another state by myself via air, the above situation is the damn straight truth.



  1. I used to travel like that- well manicured, and dressed up for whoever was waiting for me on the other side. Then I had a kid and it's now all about how to not fall on my ass while balancing a toddler, a stroller, three bags, a car seat, a blanket, and two stuffed toys.

    Love your post, honey. How's NYC treating you?

  2. OH my gosh!!! This sounded like the beginning of some really entertaining movie! I was envious of those that got to witness you in all your glory at the airport...and then I got to end, and I envied those in the airport with you even more! :-D Please keep on writing and sharing!

  3. I can't express how jealous I am that you're actually DOING (have done) what I've DREAM'T of doing since I was a kid...

  4. Thanks you guys! NYC is treating me well, except for the heat... (no AC in my bedroom). But that's okay! I'd rather die sweating in the streets of New York than keep on sitting in my air conditioned living room day after day in North Carolina accomplishing absolutely nothing.


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