One Year

One year ago today I was boarding a plane for London, England. At the time I was nervous, terrified, excited, overwhelmed. I remember getting on the airport bus from the hotel my mom and dad had checked into in Chicago, and I was thinking, I'm going to be gone for four months. I sat next to my dad, and my mom took a terrible picture of us with her iPhone, but it was the last time I would get to see them until May so I indulged her a mother-moment.

At the airport, I checked in and had my suitcases weighed--both over 50 pounds, but the airline staff didn't make me pay for the extra five pounds. Of course, the security check point was right in front of the doors, so I didn't really have time to prepare myself to say good-bye to my parents. I didn't want to cry, but I figured I would. I gave them both a hug and told them I loved them. I turned away quickly because I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I started walking through the twisted, roped-off line, and I looked back as my parents walked through the airport door. I couldn't help the tears from starting then. That was the last I would see of my mother until the beginning of May and my father until I came back home near the end of May. I quickly brushed the stray tears away because a security guard asked me to move lines because there was a smaller one further down the airport.

A handful of people grabbed their bags and begrudgingly switched to the new line. I was much closer to the metal detector, so I had to start getting my things ready to be checked. As I pulling out my passport, I had forgotten that I had an open disposable razor in my bag. I cut myself on it, and my finger started running blood in the security line. I tried to stop the flow with my mouth, but to no use. With my cut finger, I had to dig my electronics out of my bag as well as take off my sweatshirt. I managed to get a few spots of blood on my shirt which I was thoroughly unhappy with since I would have no way of cleaning it properly until I arrived in London.

I went through security quickly, and as I pulled my things off of the belt with my bloody finger, the gentleman behind me in line turned to me and said, "I forgot to take off my watch, and it didn't go off in the metal detector. Some security, huh?"

He smiled a friendly smile, but all I saw was a man that just put an unpleasant thought into my head. That smile was somehow gruesome. His watch was massive; how could the detector have missed that? What happens if they missed something else? Thoughts were swimming in my head as I made my way to my gate.

Of course, the gate happened to be one of the furthest from the security checkpoint. I sat in the plastic chair at my gate, popped open my phone, and texted my mother. I had promised I would text her so she knew I found the gate. I also happened to mention my incident with the razor. What do I do? I typed. I hadn't even left the country and I was already asking my mother for advice. Ask someone for a band-aid. Why hadn't I thought of that? Like I actually believed that my mom could have done something for my airport wound as I slumped in my chair at my gate to go to London.

I didn't ask anyone for a band-aid.

As more Vandonites arrived at my gate, I became more relieved. I recognized some people, and I was happy to know that they had made it. Arriving at the airport almost three hours in advance left me a lot of time to think about the flight. I glanced around the terminal and observed the other passengers, wondering who I may sit next to. A woman with small children. Fantastic. Foreign looking men and women with strange accents speaking complicated tongues. An older British couple sat close to me; they had been vacationing in Chicago for a month, visiting a daughter. I passed the time people watching, listening to music, and playing Solitaire on my iPod.

All passengers bound for London Heathrow on American Airlines Flight 86, please have your boarding passes ready.

I looked at my neighbors and saw their reactions. I imagined my face reflected the same emotions. Fear. Happiness. Nervousness. Excitement. All these emotions wrapped up into one ball of mass confusion. I stuffed my iPod into my bag and turned to Kiley, the only girl I knew personally on the flight. I gave her a timid smile as we stood in line to get on the plane. The woman scanning my boarding pass took my passport and wished me a safe flight. Well, I hope it's safe. I glanced at my ticket and noticed my seat number: 54G. Just how big is this plane?

I made my way back through the cabin. Way back. I stopped at the second to last row of the plane. Well, at least I'm next to a bathroom. I stowed my things and texted my mom. I am sitting on the plane. I have to turn my phone off. I will text you when I land. Love you. When I looked up from my phone, a man stood next to me. "I'm in the seat next to you," the older man pointed to 54F. I stood and let him in. Luckily, he put in headphones. He wasn't the chatty type. As the plane began to board more people, I noticed the lack of people. There wasn't anyone sitting closer than 10 rows ahead of me. I pondered on how I came to sit right next to someone on an empty plane.

A young flight attendant bent down and began talking to me, "You know, it gets very noisy back here with all of us attendants in the gallery. Once the plane doors close, I will find you a seat a bit closer to the front. How does that sound?"

He smiled genuinely at me. "That would be great. Thank you."

He closed the overhead compartment. I was excited at the prospect of leaving, even though we sat on the tarmac for over an hour waiting to take off. But, once the plane doors shut, a dozen people shot from their seats like they were explosives and began claiming their new territories. Disappointment washed over me as I began to realize that I probably wouldn't be moving seats. But, seeing all of the passengers move unannounced, the flight attendant firmly asked them to return to their original seats, "I promised this young lady a new seat, so please wait until I find her one."

I blushed, but grabbed my things and moved much closer to the front. "How do you feel about more leg room?" the man asked.

"How about this seat?" He pointed to an end seat, with no one in the neighboring seat, just one aisle behind first class with so much leg room I could stretch out my legs fully without actually being in the way. That's an upgrade. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate it."

He patted my arm, "Have a great flight."

I remember very little of the flight. I remember take off. It was smooth, so I was able to relax a little. The food was disgusting. Some sort of chicken and rice mixture that shouldn't have been called chicken and rice. But, I do remember feeling anxious. I didn't sleep on the seven hour flight. I couldn't. I knew I would be landing at seven in the morning, so I tried to sleep, but there was no use. I watched as the GPS in the plane tracked our flight over the ocean. 2039 miles to go. 1048 miles to go. 500 miles to go. 378 miles to go.

Ladies and gentleman, we are beginning our descent to London Heathrow. On behalf of American Airlines, we hope you enjoy your stay in London and that you had a pleasant flight.

Breakfast was served, but again, my stomach was in knots. In a half hour, I would be landing in London. London, England. We flew over the city while coming into the airport. London was just waking up. The sun had barely risen, and the sky was pink and purple. The lights on the street were flickering as they were no longer needed during the day. As the plane's wheels touched the runway, I jolted in my seat. I'm here. Little did I know that eventually I would begin to think I'm home.

One year ago today, I embarked on the adventure of a lifetime. I found myself in London. My second home.

And I left some of my heart there.