Does anybody know what day it is?
April 18, 2004 ~ 12:09 a.m.
BOSTON, MA�OK, call me stupid, dear reader. Call me very stupid.
I woke up this morning at 11 a.m., resigned to the fact that it was my last day home. I was boarding a plane back to England tonight. But homesickness doesn�t hold sway over me even half as powerfully as it used to. When my vacations at home come to an end, I am able to not only accept it manfully, but with a smile on my face�because my life in London is good and I know I�ll be seeing the ol� stomping grounds again in a few short months.
So I finished my packing and then stepped out into the backyard on what was the most beautiful day of this whole vacation and listened to the Red Sox game. It was 76� F (24.5� C) and Curt Schilling was pitching magnificently. It was a good way to say good-bye until July.
And so it was that I waited in the Virgin Atlantic line for roughly an hour to check-in. I didn�t even mind because I had with me my electronic Mattel Classic Baseball game that I had bought at Radio Shack a few days earlier. I amused myself with that to pass the waiting time, and then came my turn at the counter.
The girl at check-in said I wasn�t booked on this flight. I said there had to be some mistake. There was indeed.
I whipped out my itinerary and pointed to the date and time. And then I saw, just above the flight numbers, one word that explained the entire situation:
SUNDAY.
So here I was, on Saturday evening, having said farewell to the family and spent an hour in line for check-in for a flight I seriously believed I�d be boarding only to find out that, in fact, I had one more night at home at my disposal.
I apologized to the Virgin staff and stepped outside. I took a cab downtown to Park Street and rode the subway to Harvard Square. Then I called home. My sister answered after one ring: �Hello?�
�Hey, Tanya, it�s me.�
�Hey, Mark, you calling from the airport?�
�Um � no, Harvard Square.�
A moment�s stunned silence from the other end of the line. Then: � What � what are you doing in Harvard?�
�My flight�s tomorrow night, not tonight.�
I heard Sis relate this news to Mom, whose loud sigh of frustration I could hear in the background. I didn�t know it at the time, but Dad got up, preparing to collect me at the airport. That was when Mom told him that I had gotten myself to Harvard Square. He reportedly said, �Well, at least he did that much for me,� and sat back down to finish his dinner.
Trust me, there is nothing like one�s mother driving her son home in her car and lecturing him about responsibility to make the son in question feel like 34 going on 14. I winced the entire way home. It was actually my father that I expected to be the most irked at the situation, considering he had driven me into the airport, but he just laughed and shrugged it off when I apologized to him.
It�s a balmy night, I�ve just spent a few hours at my friend John�s place, I can sleep in my old bed for one more night and I�ve got another sunny and warm day tomorrow to look forward to. I should be grateful, and I am.
Would you like to know what�s weird though? I left a part of me at the airport. My soul took tonight�s flight to London. I was so seriously expecting to leave tonight that I still haven�t gotten over the shock of being informed that I had one more night at home to spend. Again, I�m grateful�but in a strange, detached sort of way. It�s as if I can�t believe this is real. Sitting here typing on my folks� computer just doesn�t seem possible. A big part of me is already on its way across the pond; I am on that plane in spirit.
This whole adventure sort of says something about carefully reading one�s travel itinerary, doesn�t it?
Can you say, no duh!
� M.E.M.
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Copyright � 2001-2007 by M.E. Manning. All material is written by me, unless explicitly stated otherwise by use of footnotes or bylines. Do not copy or redistribute without my permission.
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