home sweet home

The plane ride is 39 minutes. It takes me 8 hours door to door.

My mom, who leaves early for everything, insists on leaving at 10:15 for a 1:09 flight.  We do need to make a 45 minute detour, and Hyannis is 45 minutes away. Plus, you never know. There's always the possibility of that dreaded "bumpah-ta-bumpah" traffic.

I arrive at Hyannis airport a little before noon, to find out that my plane has been delayed — thunderstorms in New York. We eventually depart around three. It's an uneventful quick flight, but then we sit at the gate. There is something going on, but no one knows what. Lots of people talking and guessing. Then there's an announcement. "Sorry folks for the delay. There was a security issue but everything's been sorted out." Then some guy dressed in casual Cape attire exits the plane. Who is he? Why is he leaving? Are there police waiting for him? Is he a disguised air marshall?  We are never told. A few minutes after he gets off the plane, we are allowed to leave. I ask a Jet Blue representative and am simply told, "There was an issue."

I walk about a mile (JFK is one large airport) and then get on the wrong air train. All this while carrying 22 pounds worth of stuff in a tote bag. I mistakingly think that the air bus is like the shuttle between Grand Central and Times Square where all trains lead to the same place. They don't. I go 30 minutes in the wrong direction, and then must return and go another thirty minutes in the right direction.

I finally arrive home around 6:30.

It feels good to see Alexander. To order in sushi and watch Breaking Bad with him. To see a clean apartment. To stay up late with company. And to sleep in my own bed.

But it won't be birds waking me in the morning. Just the sound of hammering as the work continues outside my window.