“American Airlines, Flight 11. 9-11-2001. Economy Class, seat 32A. Boarding time: 7:45 A.M. Departing from Logan International Airport of Boston MA, Gate B32. Destination: Los Angeles, California.”
I restlessly read my plane ticket over and over. It may seem as if it’s not a big deal. Just a boarding pass, right? But this isn’t just any flight. After being in Boston for almost two weeks, the homesickness is hardly bearable anymore. It’s almost been two weeks since I’ve seen my wife, kids, brothers, office friends, neighbors, and my good, old dog. I have to be at the Logan International Airport at 6:45 A.M. tomorrow morning. I’m finally going back to everything I love in Los Angeles. I want to be asleep so badly, and studying my flight information won’t help anything; I just can’t make my brain slow down.
After trying to idly pass time for awhile I come to the conclusion that turning the light off and just lying in bed might be all that I can do, and after awhile I start to feel my consciousness ebbing away as I slip into oblivion. …show more content…
I blink rapidly for a moment. I yawn, and finally manage to open both of my tired eyes. Where am I? I close my eyes again, trying to ameliorate the stinging of the sunlight on my eyeballs.
I unenthusiastically decide that I need to get up, so I reluctantly leave the comfort of my warm bed. I head to the small hotel bathroom and inadvertently squeeze a tube of hand lotion onto my toothbrush. Just before putting it in my mouth, I realize my “toothpaste” smells suspiciously like cucumber melon. I wash it off, brush my teeth, and get into the cold shower. As soon as I get out, I pack up the potpourri of items scattered around the room that has been my home for the last twelve days and head downstairs. I grab a generic looking muffin and a cup of coffee from the continental