[0266]

"Take it moment by moment, and you will see that we are all, as I've said before, bugs in amber."
- Kurt Vonnegut

[0265] - Coming Home

I stand hunched over at baggage claim, looking haggard as ever. Twenty-three hours ago I was caught in a blizzard at Pearson, and now I’m in the middle of a hot crowded terminal at King Abdulaziz International Airport. I feel antsy and want nothing more than for the conveyor belt to start moving and spew out my bags. I check my watch and scrunch my face; it’s been more than an hour and a half since I deplaned. I run my tongue along my cracked, chapped lips while I think about the cons of being back in the third world. A woman stands beside me with a toddler in her arms. The child stares at me with his big brown eyes, and I stare back. He is much too large to be in his mother’s arms. I look away and catch my reflection in the glass doors across the belt. My hair is larger than ever thanks to the Saudi humidity. It’s one thing I don’t miss while I’m away.

The red light at the end of the conveyer belt starts flashing, and a loud beep welcomes the first bag out. It’s not mine. I move closer to the belt and push up my black long sleeves. I glance down at my watch again and think my parents must be getting tired waiting outside. A few more bags roll by and I get a glimpse of my blue and yellow Samsonite bag inching towards me. Poised to grab the handle, I’m relieved Air France didn’t misplace my baggage this time. I yank it off the belt and wield my way through the throngs of travellers and crying babies. Gone is any trace of travel fatigue. In its place is budding excitement; I haven’t seen my parents in five long months.

            The arrival gates whoosh open and I face a sea of expressions. Some look thrilled, some look mortified, and some look down at their cell phones. I scan the fluorescent-lit room and finally spot him. Papa waves, grins, and walks towards me. I notice his salt and pepper hair is more salt than pepper now. He embraces me and kisses my forehead as I take in his scents of Fahrenheit and aftershave, trying to commit them to memory. He pulls back after a few seconds and surveys my appearance with his hands clasped on to my shoulders.

           He takes hold of my suitcase and pulls it alongside him, his other arm around my shoulders. A few steps later I see Mama making her way towards us. Her eyes beam and her smile exudes a child-like innocence. We run to each other in that cheesy way long lost lovers do in movies. Mama squeezes me in a tight hug and we kiss each other’s cheeks. She smells of tangerines and perfume like she always does, her milky skin glistens in the heat. We discuss my flight and previous semester as Papa pulls over in his white SUV. I open the back door and he helps me shove in my oversized suitcase.

            “It’s not like you to pack so lightly, Nina,” his tone is tinged with playful sarcasm. I roll my eyes, smirk and climb into the backseat. The road home is lined with palm trees the King imports from Andalusia. They whiz by on both sides as the sun smiles over the Red Sea to my left, almost as if it were happy to see me too. The sound of Mama and Papa's voices puts me at ease and I close my weary eyes. I’m home.