Gate C

I'm sitting in an airport. I'm reading a magazine that I found in the empty chair next to mine. I don't know what the magazine is. I only flip through and look at the pictures.

I've been sitting in this airport for a long, long time. But I've never flown. I've seen the planes. I've seen the pilot. I've seen the passengers, thousands upon thousands of them, arriving and departing. Arriving and departing at all hours of the night and day. But I've never been one of them. I've never flown.

I'm sitting in an airport when a pilot, waiting for his plane to be refueled, sits next to me. I ask him where he's going.

"I can't tell you," he says, "but if you get on my plane, you can see for yourself."

I ask him if it's warm where he's going. I ask him if there are sandy beaches; restaurants where you can eat fresh oysters. I ask him if the people are friendly where he's going.

"I can't tell you," he says, "but if you get on my plane, you can see for yourself."

I shuffle my magazine and stare at an advertisement for vodka in a plastic bottle. When I try to ask the pilot where his plane is going, I see he is gone.

In the airport now, there is a woman sitting beside me. Her hair is in a bun. She has freckles and squints when the sun is in her eyes.

I stare at her for a second. She stares back and smiles. I smile. I ask her where she is going.

"I can't tell you," she says.

A new approach: I ask her where she comes from.

"Someplace that is gray. Someplace that, at one time can seem beautiful, but at many other times, is cold. A place where the wind blows hard and conversation is rare. A place where people don't look up from the sidewalks."

I ask, again, where she is going.

"I can't tell you," she says, "but you can come with me for awhile."

I ask if where she is going is the opposite of the place she has been.

"I can't tell you," she says.

I ask her exactly five questions about the destination and exactly 5 questions about the journey.

What's there?
What do they speak?
What will you do there?
Where did it come from?
How long can you stay there?

Is the trip long?
What will I need?
What if I can't make it?
What if I change my mind?
Who will sit with me?

"I can't tell you," she says and she's gone. I watch as her plane takes off. It flies in a direction that, for all I know, could be certain death.

For all I know, it could be certain life as well.

I'm sitting in an airport watching people get on and off planes. I watch as they go places -- some good, some not so good. They rarely know where they are going or how long it will take or what they will find when they get there. But, each of them, go anyway.

I don't know if I will ever leave the airport. I don't know if I will ever see where the planes go.

Maybe it's safer that I wait for an easy flight. One where they will tell me exactly where I am going and exactly what I can expect when I get there. No surprises. No tricks. No chaos. No adventure. No thank you.