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Of trips and
friends
I was
feeling desperate as I looked at all the stuff that I needed to
cram into two suitcases. Two people shouldn’t need more than two
bags for a ten-day vacation. But of course it wasn’t two people
that were the problem, it was one people — me. Steve had already
put aside his clothing and it was the most pathetically small
stack that I had ever seen. I knew full well that the enemy was
me. I would have to begin the weaning process.
We were
leaving the next day and I was frantic. While I can pack for
Israel with my eyes closed, this was different. We would be in
four different places doing at least ten different things, so I
was foundering. Should I take sweaters or jackets, shorts or
slacks, skirts or dresses? Should I assume that I would wear
things more than once, then spill ketchup all over myself at
every meal? Would it be cool at night, depressingly hot during
the day, volcanic, monsoony? I stared at the bed hoping that all
the stuff would magically transport itself into the suitcases,
when my phone rang.
“Are you
here? Are you here? Where can we pick you up?”
It took me a
minute to realize that it was my friend Mary on the phone and
then another to understand that for some reason she thought we
were already in Atlanta.
“Mary, I’m
still home, in my bedroom, trying to pack!”
There was
silence and then a, “You’re kidding right?”
It
turns out that back in April I had given Mary our arrival date
as August 8
instead of the ninth, and somehow
we had never discussed dates again. So she and Mike had
excitedly traveled an hour from their home in Macon to Atlanta
airport to pick up two friends who were still in Boston. Later,
Mary told us that when they got up the next morning preparing to
do the same airport run they felt like Bill Murray in the movie
“Groundhog Day.”
I finished
packing, then spent the rest of the afternoon feeling awful
about my silly mistake. But despite the guilt, my trip
excitement refused to ebb. The next day at Logan I was an
Energizer Bunny, moving and talking non-stop. Steve wondered how
I was going to settle down for the plane ride.
When we got
to Atlanta airport I was stunned. We had just left an early
morning, empty, sleepy Logan, only to arrive at a beehive. Then,
as we walked to get our bags, my nerves attacked. Would Mike and
Mary still like us? Would we still like them?
After all,
we had only known them for a week on a cruise, then e-mailed or
phoned for the past year. Now we would be staying at their house
for three days. Would we look at each other and ask ourselves,
“What did we ever see in these guys?”
But Mary
laughed at my fears and told me, “Darlin’, stop worrying. We
were meant for each other!” I began to relax.
Their house
was lovely with a big front and back yard complete with
Adirondack chairs for relaxing. Mike and Mary love antiques and
our guest suite had a beautiful, soft, feather, four-poster bed.
We spent the evening catching up, eating Mike’s delicious steak
and looking out for the deer they called, “our children.” They
put out corn and water every night for them and the deer came in
droves.
The next day
we went flying in Mike’s pride and joy, his 1947, two-seater,
Super Cruiser Piper. When he opened the hangar our mouths
dropped, it was that beautiful. Blue and white and shiny and
just exactly what you’d expect an antique plane to be. As I got
buckled into my seat, Mary kept warning Mike not to frighten me
by pulling any stunts. I just couldn’t believe that I was about
to fly in this tiny plane. Then Mike got clearance and put up
his hands and shouted, “Let’s fly!” into his headphones and
suddenly we were up.
I looked
down and around and in that instant I was enchanted and telling
Mike that I needed to learn how to fly. He laughed, but I was
serious about heading out to Norwood Airport the moment we got
home and surprised at my utter excitement. And I kept that
feeling during our entire vacation.
We spent the
days listening to the cicadas, admiring the crepe myrtles and
being amazed at the voracious kudzu plant. We ate fried green
tomatoes and southern fried chicken at the Whistle Stop Café and
ordered sweet tea. Well, I actually asked the waitress if there
was such a thing as unsweet tea and she said sure, and don’t you
know, there it was on the menu, unsweet tea. Mary and I sang out
loud during the movie Mama Mia while the guys hung their
heads, and we ate spaghetti and drank wine and laughed and
laughed and laughed.
Until it was
time to go. And then we tried to stave off sadness by planning
our next trip, but it didn’t really work. And so all that was
left were hugs and tears and good-byes, but Mary was right.
Sometimes you meet people and in an instant you just know that
they’re good people and lifetime friends. And that’s all you
really need to know.
August 28, 2008
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