Everything at the airport turns out to be quick and easy, but because we can’t anticipate the experience, we need to allow for the extra time. Plus there is the Phyllis-factor. My mom gets very nervous when anyone has to be anywhere at a certain time. She anticipates all reasonable and unreasonable possibilities for missing our plane. There could be bridge traffic. An unpredicted snowstorm could suddenly disrupt the calm of a clear November sky. The Delta pilot could inexplicably decide to leave Logan ahead of schedule. You just never know.
Alexander and I again end up at the airport early. This time, we are at the gate two hours and 10 minutes ahead of schedule. Despite having had a big half sandwich of cranberry chicken salad, I’m hungry. Alexander gets two orders of French fries (he decides the first isn’t big enough) and I have a Starbucks coffee, one of their large chocolate chip cookies, and a few of Alexander’s fries. Having the extra time probably adds an extra 1,000 calories.
We land in New York around 7:30, but then need to find our way to Jamaica Station via the airtrain. I incorrectly follow a few signs and almost board a train going in the wrong direction. Alexander comments, “If you weren’t with me you’d probably end up in actual Jamaica.”
We get home and are greeted by an unfamiliar sight: a big police van, a police car with two friendly officers inside, and a large group of policemen congregating in front of our apartment building.
Oh, and a wanted picture of a menacing-looking guy is posted in our lobby’s front window.
Apparently there have been five women attacked and robbed on the Upper Eastside in the past few days and command central has been set up at our front door.
Welcome home. It feels good to be back.
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