I was hurrying down the gleaming floors of a mid-western airport terminal, my parents’ old carry-on banging into my legs for the umpteenth time, when I heard the announcement … “This is the final boarding call for USAir 347 to Philadelphia.” I reached down to pick up the infuriating bag and, clutching it to my chest, sprinted the remaining distance to the check-in gate. I did this, I might add, while managing not to drop the crumpled up boarding pass which I promptly shoved into the outstretched hand of the woman at the gate. She smoothed it out like she had all the time in the world and then eyed me like I might be a mad bomber who had somehow skirted the airport’s security. But after a few seconds she must have figured I looked too scattered to be a professional killer and let me pass through. As I started down the gangway, my heart lurched at the thud of the terminal door closing behind me and I raced the remaining yards to the plane. Once on board, I breathed a sigh of relief and then began to search for my seat. Passengers on either side of the aisle glared as I went by making me feel like I was the only reason the plane hadn’t taken off yet. I searched frantically for a place to stow my bag, but the overhead bins all seemed to be filled. Finally, a flight attendant anxious to have me seated came to my aid and took my suitcase away to be stored in the front of the plane. I collapsed in my seat and as the plane rolled away from the terminal, I yanked at the seatbelt trying to fasten it with my sweaty hands. “Can I help you, honey?” I glanced at the elderly woman seated next to me who took the belt from me and snapped it shut. I gave her a weak smile of thanks. “First time traveling without your mom and dad?” she asked pleasantly. “Sort of,” I said. She must have thought I was eleven or twelve, and why not? The little makeup I had been wearing had worn away hours ago. My hair twisted up into a careless knot and my slight build, lost in a T-shirt and scruffy jeans, gave little indication that I was returning home from my third official college visit and would soon be making a decision that could affect my life forever. I turned away from the woman’s inquisitive smile and closed my eyes. Small talk was the last thing I needed. My head was pounding with the experiences of the last two days. I needed to sort out my conflicting feelings knowing so many people were waiting for me to make my final college choice. I felt a nudge to my shoulder. “We’ll be landing in a few minutes, dear,” the woman next to me said. I blinked in surprise thinking my brain must have been totally fried to sleep through the whole flight. The plane suddenly banked to the left and I glanced out the window just in time to see the Delaware River as it snaked its way north toward the city. As soon as the wheels touched down, people began taking out their cell phones to call for their rides. I reached under the seat in front of me to snag my own phone out of my backpack. There were three missed calls, all from my best friend, Jules Hanson. She was already hounding me to find out how my visit went. She had made her own college choice earlier in the summer giving a verbal commitment to a school on the West Coast. It seemed to me like she already had one foot firmly planted on the college’s campus. It was all she had talked about lately and we hadn’t even started our senior year of high school yet. I secretly hoped her excitement about college wasn’t going to interfere with the hockey season ahead. We would need every ounce of her leadership and focus if we were going to repeat as state champs. As people began to deplane, I slowly made my way toward the exit to retrieve my evil suitcase from the flight attendant. Once inside the terminal I speed-dialed my boyfriend, Mitch Kennedy, to let him know I had arrived. One of the most exciting things about this trip was knowing at the end of it, he would be the one picking me up. It was way more exciting than a waiting parent. Truthfully, I had been a bit disappointed that my mom hadn’t been able to make the trip with me. My dad was able to go on my other two college visits and Mom was planning to go with me on this one, which was kind of cool since she and Dad had gone there and hadn’t been back in years. For weeks all she had talked about were the places she would show me and then a few days ago she had unexpectedly canceled on me saying something had come up. “I’m here,” I texted. In short order there was a smiley face reply and I hurried toward the escalators and my waiting ride. As soon as he saw me, Mitch picked up on my frazzled state and didn’t ply me with a lot of questions. Once he had me settled in the car, he simply slipped a favorite mix into the car’s CD player and, as he maneuvered through Philly’s rush hour traffic I was able to unwind, surrounded by the sounds of twanging guitars and bluesy Southern rock. By the time we got to the Walt Whitman Bridge, which spanned the river between Pennsylvania and New Jersey, I started to relax. “Okay now, Reds?” he asked, giving my hand a squeeze after we hit the other side of the bridge. I nodded, leaning into him to plant a kiss on his cheek. He was the best.
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