ready to let fate decide their destination. Wherever her finger landed was the place they would be that day. With the help of National Geographic and the Encyclopedia Britannica, their imaginations soared to far-away possibilities.
When Julia had left, Sara’s spinning world had halted. Now, almost thirty years later, she was finally having one of the adventures they had dreamed about. She was finally keeping her promise.
The businessman next to Sara snored, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. Stubble had grown on his face overnight. They flew toward the rising sun. Flight attendants pushed their carts down the aisle like bees dispensing honey, serving each passenger a beverage with a small plate of fruit, cheese, and pastry. The businessman startled awake, looking over at Sara as if he had found her lying in his hotel bed and had no idea how she had gotten there. He quickly erased his drool, popped a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth and ordered a Bloody Mary from the flight attendant.
The snow-covered Alps came into view, the morning sun reflecting off the snow. Sara pulled herself up straighter, and mentally took a picture of the scene before her. She thought of Julia’s spinning globe. Her finger had landed on the Alps. She smiled. We must be getting close to Milan, Sara thought.
She went to the lavatory to wash her face. The tiny faucet rebelled, splashing a wide ink-blot of water down the front of Sara’s blouse. She soaked up the water with midget sized paper towels bracing her knee against the door to steady herself. She looked like she had been in a fight with a garden hose.
Sara awkwardly applied fresh make-up, her elbow anchored against the door. She dotted concealer on the gray arcs under her eyes and blended it in. “Well, that’s as good as it gets for now,” she said. Sara relaxed her face and smiled at her reflection. Who is that person? she thought. She looks almost happy.
Sara returned to her seat and shortly afterwards the jet began its descent. The pilot spoke a few sentences, first in Italian, then in English, telling them the time and weather in Milan and wishing them a pleasant stay in Italy. Was she really going to Italy?
As a third grader she had done a geography report on Italy citing their imports and exports, among other things, and drawing a large map of the country that looked like a boot. Something about it had captured her imagination, even then. I’ll go there someday, she had thought at the time. It was as clear and tangible a thought as she had ever had.
“Could you please stop that?” the businessman said. They were the first words he had spoken to Sara the entire flight.
“Excuse me?”
He motioned to her hand. Without realizing it, Sara had been tapping her nails against the arm rest. A nervous habit she had indulged in since high school, when she had finally stopped chewing her nails and grown them out.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize....”
He grunted and reached for an airline magazine in front of him.
“I’m visiting an old friend,” Sara said. “Actually, I’m surprising her. She has no idea I’m coming to her art opening. But I guess I’m more nervous than I thought.”
He turned a page, not looking at her.
“We haven’t seen each other in almost thirty years,” Sara continued, this time hoping to irritate him. She was nothing to him, a mere gnat whizzing around his head.
He turned another page. His disinterest did little to curb her excitement.
After a reasonably smooth landing passengers unloaded overhead compartments and began their migration through screening and customs. Like cattle directed through various chutes, they eventually ended up in baggage claim, where the same stream of rumpled passengers moved toward the exits. Outside the airport Sara was swept into a tide of activity. Animated Italians greeted loved ones. People stood like statues peering up at a large board of constantly updated flight information. The numbers
When Julia had left, Sara’s spinning world had halted. Now, almost thirty years later, she was finally having one of the adventures they had dreamed about. She was finally keeping her promise.
The businessman next to Sara snored, spittle forming at the corner of his mouth. Stubble had grown on his face overnight. They flew toward the rising sun. Flight attendants pushed their carts down the aisle like bees dispensing honey, serving each passenger a beverage with a small plate of fruit, cheese, and pastry. The businessman startled awake, looking over at Sara as if he had found her lying in his hotel bed and had no idea how she had gotten there. He quickly erased his drool, popped a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth and ordered a Bloody Mary from the flight attendant.
The snow-covered Alps came into view, the morning sun reflecting off the snow. Sara pulled herself up straighter, and mentally took a picture of the scene before her. She thought of Julia’s spinning globe. Her finger had landed on the Alps. She smiled. We must be getting close to Milan, Sara thought.
She went to the lavatory to wash her face. The tiny faucet rebelled, splashing a wide ink-blot of water down the front of Sara’s blouse. She soaked up the water with midget sized paper towels bracing her knee against the door to steady herself. She looked like she had been in a fight with a garden hose.
Sara awkwardly applied fresh make-up, her elbow anchored against the door. She dotted concealer on the gray arcs under her eyes and blended it in. “Well, that’s as good as it gets for now,” she said. Sara relaxed her face and smiled at her reflection. Who is that person? she thought. She looks almost happy.
Sara returned to her seat and shortly afterwards the jet began its descent. The pilot spoke a few sentences, first in Italian, then in English, telling them the time and weather in Milan and wishing them a pleasant stay in Italy. Was she really going to Italy?
As a third grader she had done a geography report on Italy citing their imports and exports, among other things, and drawing a large map of the country that looked like a boot. Something about it had captured her imagination, even then. I’ll go there someday, she had thought at the time. It was as clear and tangible a thought as she had ever had.
“Could you please stop that?” the businessman said. They were the first words he had spoken to Sara the entire flight.
“Excuse me?”
He motioned to her hand. Without realizing it, Sara had been tapping her nails against the arm rest. A nervous habit she had indulged in since high school, when she had finally stopped chewing her nails and grown them out.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize....”
He grunted and reached for an airline magazine in front of him.
“I’m visiting an old friend,” Sara said. “Actually, I’m surprising her. She has no idea I’m coming to her art opening. But I guess I’m more nervous than I thought.”
He turned a page, not looking at her.
“We haven’t seen each other in almost thirty years,” Sara continued, this time hoping to irritate him. She was nothing to him, a mere gnat whizzing around his head.
He turned another page. His disinterest did little to curb her excitement.
After a reasonably smooth landing passengers unloaded overhead compartments and began their migration through screening and customs. Like cattle directed through various chutes, they eventually ended up in baggage claim, where the same stream of rumpled passengers moved toward the exits. Outside the airport Sara was swept into a tide of activity. Animated Italians greeted loved ones. People stood like statues peering up at a large board of constantly updated flight information. The numbers
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