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Friday March 2
A mourning dove wakes me. In my stupor I mistake it for an owl. We have little time this morning. We will take a cab to the ferry, which will take us to St. Thomas. From there we must take a cab to the airport. In order to make our flight with room to spare, we must catch a 10:15 a.m. taxi. We will wait in the airport for three hours.
I sweep the sand on our floor between the cracks in the floorboards. We pack our bags and ball up dirty linens. At the reception area a withered old woman points to where we can dump our linens. We join Kim and Bob in the pavilion for butter-infused pancakes. From the pavilion we can see the vibrant blue of Maho Bay on the other side of a tree-covered slope. It is easy to imagine staying for a few more days.
The taxi arrives too soon and we must exchange parting hugs. We speed over a narrow road sinuous with sharp bends. We come within inches of pedestrians and other vehicles. I realize that the driver traverses this route frequently, but I don’t understand how he avoids collisions. On the ride from the ferry to the airport, the panorama we observed a week ago unfolds in reverse. We see the same school and schoolgirls, although the girls wear different colored uniforms today. We wait at the same busy intersection where the children will cross later today
We disembark at the airport at about 12:30 p.m. island time. It will be 2 a.m. Ann Arbor time before our heads hit pillows. The airline’s system is down, so our boarding passes are scrawled in longhand. We complete our customs form carefully, not wanting trouble. Our friendly US customs agent sings the praises the Michigan Wolverines, and waves us through. Once seated, I notice that I have two text messages from Bob on my cell phone. Happily, I tap out an answer with my thumbs.
We learn from a fellow passenger that weather in Philadelphia has thrown everything off-kilter. He has received a voice message from the airline. He spreads the word, giving other passengers a chance to make other plans. There are no airline employees in sight, since the flight is hours away. To ensure that we don’t spend the night in Philadelphia, Ian spends 20 minutes on hold to hustle us onto a plane going into Charlotte. We drop $40 on airport lunches and dinners. As the wait drags on, I check my phone frequently for text messages. I am already lonely for Kim and Bob.
The Charlotte plane leaves late. Finally in the air, near 4:30, we have a long flight ahead of us. I read more on this flight than I have all week. In Charlotte, we find that our 9:15. flight has been delayed until 10:50. On the way through Charlotte last Friday, I had wished for a longer layover in Charlotte. The gentile white rocking chairs and elegant piano music seemed inviting. Tonight my wish comes true.
As we wait to board our flight, we see Kim's daughter Amanda, returning from a trip to Puerto Rico with her dad. She is beautiful, but looks tired. The flight to Detroit is cramped and miserable. People squirm, trying to fall asleep. We are exhausted by the time we land in Detroit. We locate a taxi immediately. I am surprised when our driver departs without waiting for other Ann Arbor passengers. Had he been an islander, he would not have left until his vehicle bulged with people and luggage, multiplying his profit many times over.
The young Arabic driver murmurs monotonously into his phone during the entire drive. In our snowy driveway, Ian asks him whether he takes plastic. The man stares at him in disbelief. We are out of cash, so he has no choice. Ian searches our darkened house for checkbook and pen. He writes the check in the frigid cold. We stumble inside with our luggage, extracting only what we need for the night. Our light extinguishes at 2 a.m.
Prev: Sailing to Road Town