The Wait

It was quite late when I arrived at the airport where Terry was waiting to meet me for the first time. Our first date. A sensible person might have chosen coffee at noon. We chose a near midnight arrival gate.

The flight was delayed coming in from the east. I was bundled in a thick coat, carrying winter with me. Terry, meanwhile, had been working in the southwest desert. Shorts. T-shirt. Confidence, I suppose. We were already dressed for two different climates. That felt symbolic.

When we landed, everyone sprang up as if released from a starting line. I happened to be seated near a large group of elderly seniors. Naturally, I stepped aside and let them go first. It was the right thing to do. They moved with dignity and determination, which is to say, slowly. Very slowly.

I remember thinking, "He will assume I changed my mind. He will leave."

The walk down the corridor felt longer than the flight itself.

When I finally stepped into the waiting area, it was almost empty. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. And there he was. Leaning forward slightly. Watching the gate with a seriousness that made my heart soften.

I saw his face shift when he noticed me. Concern lifting. Relief arriving. Or perhaps I imagined it. Memory has a way of polishing moments until they shine.

I did not walk. I hurried.

It did not feel like a first meeting. It felt like something remembered. Like finding a familiar trail in a forest you thought you had never walked before.

We sat down for a moment to catch our breath. No grand speeches. No clever lines. Just looking at one another, quietly confirming what we both hoped was true.

On the drive home, I told him about the seniors and my slow, patient exit. I confessed that I was certain he would not still be there. He admitted he had wondered if his excitement had outrun reality. He worried he had hoped too much. The long wait had given his imagination plenty of material.

Yet he stayed.

He saw it through.

Even now, years later, I can still picture him in that nearly empty space, waiting with more courage than he probably realized. There is something steady about that image. Like a desert evening holding its warmth long after the sun has gone down.

Some meetings begin with fireworks.

Ours began with waiting.

And that feels exactly right.