I have long maintained that the middle gates at the airport are purely for decoration. I believe their waiting areas are filled with paid extras placed to make an airport seem more profitable than it actually is. I say this because no matter where my work sends me across the globe, my gate is always one of the furthest from the security checkpoint. I guess it is also the airline’s way of protecting passengers from blood clots by ensuring they have plenty of exercise prior to boarding. My travel arrangements on this latest business trip proved to be no exception.
After weaving out of what felt like miles of pedestrian traffic, I finally made it to my departing gate. Looking at a nearby monitor, I was delighted to see that my flight was on schedule, which is a phenomena almost as rare for me as getting a flight out of a middle gate. I glanced at my watch. Shew. I’d made it with only a few minutes until boarding time. I began jockeying for position in line as an attendant stepped up to the microphone. Let’s get this trip over with.
“Umm… ladies and gentlemen… er… I have been told your aircraft is on the ground, but… um… we just don’t know exactly where it is on the tarmac. But we’ll get it turned around and send you on your way just as soon as it gets here.”
A collective groan swelled through the waiting area, mine included. How can you lose a plane? Especially today? Ugh. Whatever happened to the glamour of air travel? I looked at my fellow passengers. They looked as frazzled and travel weary as I was. A woman across from me dressed in sweats and hair astray slouched in her chair as she passed along the update to someone on the other end of a phone call. “This has been the longest day ever…I just want to get home.” Another turned around and made his way to the closest bar. As I looked around the waiting area the words of the poem, The New Colossus, came to mind. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”
The words that so aptly described those of us stuck in airport purgatory that evening are the same that adorn the Statue of Liberty. They are the same words that for years have greeted family after family as they made their way into America. But now they no longer ring true. The borders are closing. We are more selective with who we let in.
My plane eventually arrived at the gate. I made it to my destination and back home again, but for so many, their dreams for a better life might now seem like my plane – lost somewhere out on the tarmac. Without hope, what options will they have? I recognize that we have our own problems. We don’t have resources in place for those who are already here. We can’t prevent those who wish us harm from intermingling with those possessing more honorable intentions, but I worry that desperate people will do desperate things and we will only be trading one problem for another.
Humanity learned to fly and even touched the moon. Surely we can find an answer to another impossible problem.
After 500 burnt calories or so we were still only half-way up. The clouds hadn’t gotten any thinner either. I had already gotten what I wanted out of this experience. We were relatively alone on this staircase to nowhere. It was so quiet and peaceful at the landing. I was able to hear myself think, but that might not have been a good thing. I started wondering what was the point of getting to the top. We weren’t going to be able to see anything. Why bother? If we turned around now, at least gravity would make the way easier.
The wind picked up as we climbed higher. Suddenly the clouds parted, and there it was. The bronze statue was not one of those fat and happy Buddhas I was used to seeing in American Chinese restaurants. This version was not grinning from ear to ear, made to look like everything was some big joke. Instead, he appeared accepting, calm, and serene though still with a hint of a smile. His hand was raised up in greeting and welcome.
Allie Potts 