International Arrival
You would need a heart of stone not to be affected by the
international arrivals hall at Dulles Airport. Everywhere you look are reunions of one sort or
another: husbands and wives, children and parents, brothers and sisters, friends. There was a man next to us who
said he was waiting for his sweetheart to return from Denmark. His cap was pulled
down low so it was difficult to see his eyes — maybe because he was expecting
them to fill.
international arrivals hall at Dulles Airport. Everywhere you look are reunions of one sort or
another: husbands and wives, children and parents, brothers and sisters, friends. There was a man next to us who
said he was waiting for his sweetheart to return from Denmark. His cap was pulled
down low so it was difficult to see his eyes — maybe because he was expecting
them to fill.
Claire and Celia were holding Claire’s two homemade signs.
One of them said “Welcome Home” in “pennant” letters. The other was a map of
Benin in green magic marker.
One of them said “Welcome Home” in “pennant” letters. The other was a map of
Benin in green magic marker.
After what seemed like an eternity, we saw Suzanne. She was wearing a short-sleeved “Virginia is for Runners” t-shirt and
her arms and face were tan. She was wheeling three large suitcases and a carry-on. (I later learned that only
one of those large bags was hers; the others were for Peace Corps friends.)
The first impression — that ever amazing,
important first impression — was that she’s a world traveler now. There was a
nonchalance in the way she wheeled the bags, a certain jauntiness about her.
My second impression — or perhaps I should say thought once I was capable of having thoughts — was that I don’t ever want her to leave again.
