Things fall apart

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The city had ceased to move. All was silent as the little silver sedan buzzed down the lamppost lit road. I looked upon my mother in law. A single gray strand stood out against her silky black hair as the street lights danced across us. She said nothing. There wasn't much to say at two am, and it was a simple silence, interrupted only by the switching of gears.

She turned into the gas station. The little gray car would need to be filled in order to make the trip to the Orlando airport. My heart was beating rapidly as I got out of the car to do the job. A thick cloud of mosquitoes hung over my head, buzzing in sync with the droning hum of the yellowish halogen lights. I cringed and smacked and itched as they feasted upon me, running to the car no sooner than I could stuff the pump back into it's holster.

I was leaving. My brand new husband was off to boot camp. I was off onto an adventure of my own. All of my banter about traveling for years and years had finally culminated into this single moment. I breathed in slowly, and exhaled nervously- many times during that two hour drive. We talked a little, but much of the drive was silence. The resent seeped out of her pores.

After a series of insane highway tolls upon entering Orlando, we arrived at the airport. She dropped me off, and said, “I'll see you in Costa Rica,” after begging multiple times for me to stay safe. She would be teaching for her University exchange program. San Jose was my final destination on the trip.

I got out of the car with a small black duffel and a camera pack. Everything I would be taking with me, I could carry on the plane. So, I stood in front of the empty ticket counter until five am, when it finally opened (late). My flight to Ft. Lauderdale was under way.

I was miserably hungry when I got off the plane in Lauderdale. I ended up eating a disgusting and unsatisfying saran-wrapped airport turkey and cheese sandwich slopped with mayonnaise, before racing back to my terminal to sit around, biting my lip. My mom rang me to ask how things had been going and whether or not my trip was indeed under way. We talked for a bit, and then I hung up to board the plane.

At only one point in my life have I sat next to someone on a plane who made me uncomfortable. Just luck, I suppose. I have also always flown alone. I guess necessity dictates in this case. So, I struck up the “how's the weather” conversation with my seat mate to both alleviate the “elephant in the living room” feeling you get from sitting silently next to someone on a plane, and to curb boredom. Her name was Lucretia, or “Luky” for short ( pronounced Lu-key), and she was from Guatemala City, where I was headed. Her family still lived there, though she resided in Tampa, and she visited often.

Luky and I had the typical existentialist type discussions about life, love, and travel that I always end up having with people on planes. She was a very brilliant and interesting person. I have always had the luck of running into these types while traveling. I quickly learned a great deal about Guatemala City- more than the Lonely Planet guide I had tucked in my pack could tell me.

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