I stood there in the Glasgow airport thinking about the past week. Things had flown by so quickly. Had I been able to stay another month, it still wouldn't have been enough time to see everything. All I could see were the tears in my eyes at that moment.
I had stood there at the luggage carousel only 9 days previous, impatiently waiting for my bag to appear. The carousel began to turn. I didn't see my bag yet. Where was it? The first bags started to show up. Still, I didn't see my red bag. Were was it? I paced slightly, my high heels feeling slightly more tight around my ankles with each passing moment. I grew very warm and had to take off my long wool coat. There it was - my large, bright red and very heavy bag. I hoisted my briefcase further up on my shoulder, wrapped my coat over my purse straps on my other arm, and reached out.
"Oh, is it yours," a voice off to my right asked. "We must have the same bag then."
I smiled and looked closer at the bag. It wasn't mine after all. "Sorry" I muttered excitedly.
The next large red bag to come through was mine, though. I snatched it off of the conveyor belt and nearly dashed to the exit. A series of winding corridors marked here and there with video monitors showing the waiting area led me to the customs line.
"How long will you be here," the lady asked me. "Are you here for Holiday or business?" Her series of questions lasted about 8 minutes long, and I must have passed the test with flying colors since she marked my passport with a 6 month visa and gave me clearance to go.
I hadn't seen him on any of the video monitors. Was he there? Would he be there? It was terribly early in the morning when I landed in Glasgow. I walked into the waiting area and scanned the crowd of anxious faces. I didn't see his face - I knew it so well after 6 years that I had no doubt I would be familiar with his face when I saw it. Where was he? My heart skipped a beat.
I paused. Time slowed down a second. Something in the back of my head told me to turn to my left. My head turned, almost involuntarily. Against the wall, sitting in a black standard airport chair with arms, there he sat. He smiled at me and the ice in his legs thawed. Finally he stood up and started walking my way. It had been 6 long years … finally the wait was over.
Here I was back in the Glasgow airport, my mood just the opposite from when I had landed. I took out the Scottish Butter Tablet from my briefcase and broke off a small chunk. It melted in my mouth, bringing up memories of the drive from Balquiddher and Callander the day before. That made me think of the trip into Glasgow, the Edinburgh Royal Mile and the Bothwell Castle on my first day in Scotland. I had hit the ground at a dead run and didn't stop until exhaustion caused me to pass out unconscious. The odd part was that I didn't dream the entire time I was in Scotland. When I slept, it was just sleep - a deep, abiding and peaceful sleep. I had no premonitions in my dreams… they had all come true.
I wiped my eyes and sat down at my gate, waiting for my flight to board. I sighed deeply. Los Angeles was a long way from Glasgow.