An old man at the Main Terminal looks confused.
“Whoa,” a nearby teenager told his friend, “Do you think that old guy is losing it?”
“Maybe,” is friend replied in a deadpan tone before returning to his phone.
Standing alone, forehead against the tinted windows, the heat of the summer sun slamming against his receding hairline, his arms waving furiously toward a parked plane nearby, the old man indeed seemed confused.
“Honey, there you are,” a concerned female companion of the old man, likely the old man’s wife, finally steps in, “These windows are tinted, sweetie, no matter how hard you try, they can’t see you now. I think we should go home to rest.”
“Oh,” the old man straightens up, glancing left and right before his chin sinks toward his chest in embarrassment, “That little guy always smiles when I wave my arms like that.”
“I know,” this wife grabs his hand sweetly, “You’re a good grandpa.”
“I miss them,” the old man smiles, “I should go rest.”
Hand-in-hand, the couple turns and walks toward the parking garage, the old man limps as his wife supports his arm.
***
“I miss home,” a young dad plops down next to his wife and young son, draped with a diaper bag and duffle bag that he tries to cram under his seat, “It keeps getting harder and harder to leave.”
His wife is more occupied with their baby son than her husband’s longing for home, replies, “I know, hun. Goodbyes are never easy. But, our home isn’t here.”
For the next few minutes, the couple takes turns propping their son up on their laps, keeping him occupied while hoping his nap would magically coincide with the plane’s departure in just minutes.
“Before we take off, I’m going to the bathroom,” his wife hands his son over and inches past him, “I’d hate to have to go from the window seat after we take off.”
While she’s gone, and to entertain the waning energy of their son’s light-speed attention span, the dad shifts over to the window seat. He takes in the view, first the enormous wing of the 737 and next of the sun’s glare off of the tinted windows of the terminal. The baby’s finger extends to the window as if he wants to see. The young dad obliges. The sudden flash of the sun’s glare has the baby squinting and rubbing his eyes.
After he’s acclimated to the bright glare of the terminal’s windows, the baby’s attention is locked in on something. He doesn’t look away for, what seemed like, minutes until he giggles, and giggle, and giggles even louder. The young father smiles, too, looking into his son’s eyes and then back at the terminal to locate the cause of the comedy.
“Nothing,” the young dad sighs.
Suddenly, the young father thinks of his dad. The baby had only laughed that way a handful of times, one such instance occurred this morning – a giant baby giggle and toothless smile at his grandfather hopping like a bunny and waving his arms from side-to-side. The young dad tried to burn that memory into his mind. He had no idea how many more memories his son might have of this grandpa in his right mind – if any at all.
“Honey, I heard him laughing from the bathroom!” his wife had returned, smitten with their adorable baby boy she’d heard from a distance, “What do you think he was looking at?”
“Not sure,” he shuffled back to his aisle seat, “You can’t see inside the terminal, but it seems like he has super powers or something. He was locked in on something in there. That’s the laugh I was telling you about at my dad’s house this morning when we said our goodbyes. I’m glad you heard it.”
“So cute,” the mother relieved the young father of baby holding duties for a moment, “Super powers? Maybe you’re losing it.”
Maybe.
