NOT FORGOTTEN
No stories of my grandmother, especially with me as their author, would be complete without the infamous Tampa Airport Mishap of 1974. I will preface the story by recounting a conversation she and I had last night over dinner.
First she complimented me on how wonderfully balanced a meal I had whipped up for her in the time it took her to use the bathroom. She explained all the reasons why the food choices were a good mix of vitamins, and how wonderful it was I had skinned the chicken for her. The truth is the chicken was a rotisserie chicken already cooked I got at the grocery store. When I tore the legs off for her, the skin came off. Guess that worked out for me.
"Too much fat is not good for you," she said. "I don't like fat, but you should have some fat in your diet. Not fat fat, but...well, other kinds of fat. I use cod liver oil. Oh, I don't mean cod liver oil, I mean vegetable oil. I could never drink cod liver oil. Babies smelled like that."
We laughed.
After a few more bites of the fabulous meal I'd whipped up, she said, "I had a dream last night...I was driving my car. I remembered to pick up your mother, but I forgot to get You. I forgot to get you. Why would I forget to get you?"
"I don't know," I said........
CUT TO
June 1974. I was eleven years old, and ready to take my first airplane flight from Colorado Springs, Colorado to Tampa, Florida to spend two weeks with my grandparents. And I was flying alone. Now remember, this is 1974. This was when we knew nothing of kidnappers or the like, and could still run all over the neighborhood until dark. This was when my brother and I had a paper route that had us up at way before sunrise to deliver them, and the only thing we worried about was how tired we were or how cold it was.
So, I got on the plane without escort or special boarding. The only thing afforded me for security was my favorite pillow which I carried on with me. I don't really know if any special preferences were given to children traveling alone then, but I doubt anyone would have considered me a pre-teen by looks alone. At eleven, I stood as tall as I do now (perhaps taller if the de-evolution has begun), and weighed only 10 pounds less. At times it was a battle for Mom to get me the child rate at movies. So, I don't remember any questions or concerns from the airplane staff.
Several hours later, we landed at the Tampa Airport, and began de-boarding. I was probably one of the last to de-plane just because that's me. I was never one to elbow and fight and hurry for something that is obviously going to happen anyway. It just seems more stressful and frustrating to me to hurry up just to stand in the aisle in single file holding our bags while we all slowly walk out of the plane than to wait until there is clear passage. I'm still like that in situations of this nature. After all, it's not like once we land they are only allowing 10 of us to actually get off the plane, so we have to fight and hurry to get those 10 coveted spots. We're all getting off. And, honestly, I enjoy the moments where I can observe people.
When me and my pillow finally got off the plane, we were unhurried, and unworried. As we (me and my pillow) crossed the threshold between plane and airport, the scene was at first amazing. Perhaps a scene of simple greetings to so many who fly often, but for a young girl on her first trip it was really amazing to watch each single passenger on the plane, strangers to every other single person on the plane, begin to take on the persona of familiarity. Like electrons that had been floating alone only moments before, they started attaching themselves to little groups and whirling with hugs and kisses. Atoms re-formed, completed.
And then I watched as each completed atom left the area. I was still there, looking toward the entrance now, expecting any moment for my grandmother to enter. I didn't panic. In fact, I didn't even think she had forgotten me. I just thought she was late. The size of the airport was daunting to an eleven year old, and I hadn't even left the gate area yet. It must take a long time to get here from where she lives. It didn't really occur to me that she'd forgotten, still, but as I had never flown before, I wasn't sure where to go to get my bags, or even where the door to the outside was in the enormous airport.
As one who has never been very good at doing nothing, I thought waiting there with so little knowledge wasn't such a good idea. And, I had to get my stuff, which was somewhere in this enormous place in a suitcase. So, I followed the last of the atoms from my plane silently, without drawing attention, as if I knew what I was doing. I think in some way I figured my grandmother knew all these secrets of plane flight so she would be able to find me anywhere along the path. And I also assumed it couldn't possibly be that far from where the plane landed to where the bags were, right? So I must keep moving along the path of my fellow travelers.
After a few turns of walking, we all got on a monorail to travel to our bags. Let me say that again. We got on a monorail to travel to our bags! There is no way I thought the bags would be so far away from the plane it required a monorail to get to them. But I was committed to my decision to follow still.
Then it started moving. Fast. And away. Away from where I was supposed to meet my grandmother. Away from where everything was supposed to happen as perfectly as electrons attaching themselves to the atom in waiting. The possibility that I had made a serious error in judgment by leaving the gate area sunk in like a stone. My heart sank. And tears began to crawl from my eyes. Hugging my pillow very tightly, I thought I had been wrong to leave the gate, after all. But I couldn't see how to correct my mistake. How do I get back? Considering how many monorails there were, there was no way I would be able to figure out how to get back. I had no idea when I set out to follow my fellow travelers we were to move what felt like miles away from the greeting area. I guess I was thinking that our bags were located in the next room or something, and I could always change my mind and go back to wait for my grandmother.
Silent tears flowed into my pillow. Then a woman near me asked me if I needed help. To this day, I wish I had gotten her name, for I owe her a debt of gratitude. I explained to her that my grandmother was not there to get me, and perhaps (I don't remember everything I said) I told her I was afraid I had made a mistake by leaving the area. Gramma might just have been late, and now I've left the place where she might be looking for me.
The nice woman was wonderful. And calm. I liked her calm. She told me she would go with me to baggage claim, and maybe find my grandmother there. Cool. My first reassurance that all the adults around me knew how the whole flying thing worked better than I did. I felt better already. Well, we got to baggage claim, retrieved our luggage, but no Gramma there either.
"She's not here either," the woman explained. "Now we have to find her. It's okay. We just have to call her."
It was 1974. Every conceivable possibility of error had not yet been entered into a computer program somewhere so that officials could give parents step by step instructions on how to avoid the unthinkable. There were no rules for children traveling alone on planes, as there were no rules for car seats andseat belts, nor any other possible, but accidental, harm you could impose on your child. So, I had no list of phone numbers pinned to my shirt or anywhere else on my person for that matter. Still calm, the woman asked me my grandfather's name so she could look it up in the phone book. That I knew. "Raymond Starkey," I told her. "They live on 298th Ave N in Clearwater, Florida."
You might think it atrocious my mother hadn't equipped me with phone numbers and numbers of neighbors in case there was no answer, etc, etc. But, I had been writing letters to my grandmother for years, and I always addressed the envelope myself, I'm sure at my mother's insistence and approval. I was not completely without information. My Good Samaritan looked up my grandparent's number and called them.
My grandmother was mortified at my being "forgotten". She thought my flight was the next day. I talked to her a minute and she said how sorry she was and remarked at how calm I was. And then the woman talked to her and reassured her I was fine and she would wait with me until Gramma got there. I am not exaggerating by much at all when I say my grandmother made the trip from Clearwater to the Tampa Airport in 15 minutes flat! I think it's about an hour by any standards.
Happy ending. We (my pillow and me) got into Gramma's car and all was well. Gramma was so overwhelmed by the thought of forgetting me, and so apologetic. I was just very happy I, a single spinning electron, had found the atom to which it was supposed to attach itself.
It was 1974. The woman who helped me was about my mother's age, so she would be in her 60's now. If by some stroke of fate, she would happen upon thisstory, I extend my undying gratitude to her for her selfless help that day. If you believe in everything happening for a reason, I couldn't tell you why I was "forgotten", but I can say I actually believe I was moved to follow my fellow travelers for reasons far greater than I thought then. My guardian angel was getting on that monorail to the baggage claim. I had to go. It was right to go.
For years my grandmother and my mother have argued over who was to blame for the mishap at the Tampa Airport. Mom insists she gave Gramma the right information and Gramma insists Mom gave her the wrong date. For the record, I have never blamed either one, or anyone for that day's miscommunication. Like I said, I was just happy to be connected with my atom in the end....
"I had a dream last night," she said last night at dinner. "I was driving my car. I remembered to pick up your mother, but I forgot to get You. Why would forget to get you?"
"I don't know," I said. "But it's okay, Gramma. I've always forgiven you, mostly because I never thought it something that needed forgiving. You didn't forget me. I'm here."
"Yes I did. I forgot you," she insisted.
"No you didn't. You got the date wrong, but you didn't forget me. There's a difference."
She paused for a moment and thought that over. Then she smiled, and nodded her head. I smiled, and nodded mine.