It was 5:18pm and Sam was in another strategy meeting; he had begun fidgeting about eight minutes ago. His boss already spoke to him once about the fidgeting, a fact that made Sam think he had been doing it for some time with great annoyance before his boss brought it up. But there he was, shifting his weight back and forth, playing with the height of his chair, and swirling his pen around his fingers while nervously glancing at the clock’s second hand, which now seemed to be moving backward.
But fidgeting was the only thing keeping him from screaming right now. It was bad enough that this was a strategy meeting, and almost no one at the expansive conference table knew the first thing about strategy, or even what the word meant, for that matter. And, if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t quite sure what it meant either. But today, of all days, the meeting was being led by his nemesis at the company, Theodore Ridgeway. Theo, as everyone other than Theo, liked to call him, was the most black and white, rigid, and uncooperative person Sam had ever met in his professional or personal life. And today, Theo was presenting on the new web metrics and what that meant or didn’t mean for the corporate strategy.
5:19. Ugh. Sam couldn’t believe time could move so slowly. He took another sip from his empty coffee cup. Wishful drinking. Since the talk with his boss about his fidgeting, this had been his way of coping. He would make sure to buy a large coffee prior to any meeting that was scheduled to run longer than a half hour. They all run longer than half an hour. This particular drink had run out about ten minutes ago and the fidgeting had started soon after.
He looked at his watch to see if it had a more desirable read on the space-time continuum. 5:17! Sam actually let out a little grunt of pain. With that, his boss looked at him and gave him a, “I thought we spoke about this?” facial expression.
Sam attempted to calm down. Sam tried focused. Sam breathed. Sam’s scalp began to itch uncontrollably. “Shut up, Theo, and end the meeting!” he desperately wanted to say.
Sam tried to casually and calmly rub his scalp but realized it was pointless. There was no way he was going to be able to calm himself and stop the fidgeting. Not today. Not the last day of work before a two-week vacation. With a woman. And not just any woman. Lucy.
Ah, Lucy. They had been dating for three months and this would be their first trip together. He hoped that it meant they were getting more serious. “That’s what it meant, right?” Sam thought. Regardless, all he had to do was get through this damn meeting, get to the photography store, and meet her at the airport for a 9pm flight. Totally doable but seemingly impossible for Sam’s current patience level.
5:23, progress. Seven more minutes. Sam opened his canvas organizer and found everything as meticulous as he left it. Tickets. Check. Passport. Check. Costa Rican cash. Check. To call Sam detail-oriented would be putting it mildly. He is borderline obsessive with a dab of compulsive mixed in for good measure. In fact, this is why the three month mark with Lucy is so monumental for Sam. Previous romantic interests had long dumped him in frustration by this point. It would almost be easier if he were fully clinically diagnosed with something. At least medication might be an option. Or if he was just “uptight” – maybe then weed would seem more appealing. But no, Sam occupies this gray zone on some spectrum somewhere and it just created awkwardness in relationships lasting longer than a few weeks. His last “girlfriend” called him “almost normal” and then slammed the door.
But, seriously, how could he be expected to sit through a strategy meeting at a time like this??!!
“Sam. Sam. SAM!” his boss said with a bit too much agitation in his voice. Sam slapped his organizer shut with more force than was required and looked up from the table. It was empty. His boss was at the door. “Sam, the meeting’s over. Don’t you have a plane to catch?” Sam just sat there, dumbfounded. “Happy Holidays, Sam.” Sam stood up and collected his stuff. “Thank you, Happy Holidays back to you.” His boss was out the door with a wink and Sam was alone in the room. It was 5:37.
By 5:45, Sam was on street walking briskly to the metro with his rolly bag in tow. It was already dark and very cold. It felt like the temperature dropped 20 degrees since the morning. As a child, Sam loved winter and the holiday season. No school. Snow. Sledding and hot cocoa. The best! But as an adult, Sam hated when the time changed in the Fall. “Fall Behind” meant that it was nearly impossible to leave work in the light. And it marked the coming of a long, cold winter. So the thought of getting away, even for just a week, felt like it could only be true in a dream.
Sam left the photography store at 6:20 feeling pretty proud of himself. Under his arm was a package neatly wrapped in brown paper. This was Lucy’s gift. Inside the store, Sam had flipped through the pages of the photo book and it gave him goosebumps. Not only were Lucy’s photographs breathtaking, but the book had been hand bound and the photos mounted on archival quality paper. The owner said that the book would last generations. That’s what Sam was hoping. If he was being honest with himself, he wanted this to become an annual tradition that would produce more photo books for Lucy in the future.
“Hold on,” he thought, “don’t get ahead of yourself, Sam!” He cautioned himself because this had been another reason some relationships ended too soon. Suggesting a cross-country trip on a first date. Guilty. Working his ideal wedding spot into the conversation on a second date. Guilty. Getting caught doodling stick figures of himself and his date with children and a cat. Guilty. This time would be different. This time is different.
Sam was back at the metro by 6:25. He decided to take the stairs this time to make it past all of the commuters pasted to their phones on the escalator. He was so looking forward to getting unstuck from his phone that he could barely stand seeing others nose deep right now.
Sam would take two steps at a time if he didn’t think he would trip down a few and break his neck. As he got to the first landing midway down, he caught up to the only other person on the steps this evening, a man moving much slower than Sam. As he got closer he quickly realized there was something off about this person. For one, he was moving quite slow and leaning much of his weight on to the railing and wall. Possibly inebriated. The second odd thing was this man’s lack of outerwear. He must have been freezing in this weather with no jacket on. His clothes looked worn yet not tattered. He looked at the man’s shoes, a tell tail sign of living on the streets, but these fit him perfectly, however, looked like they had been through a war. Unfortunately, it wasn’t rare to see homeless here or anywhere else in the city and, even though Sam regularly gave money to local charity groups, he wasn’t quite sure how they survived in the winter months.
By the time Sam passed by the man, he was just leaning against the railing, not moving. He was just pressing the side of his face into the stone wall. When Sam made it to the next landing, he glanced back just in time to see the man sit down on the stairs behind him. As the man struggled to keep his eyes open, he and Sam made eye contact for a brief moment. A jolt went through Sam’s body with unknown emotion. He wasn’t sure if it was shock or embarrassment or empathy? But Sam was moving too quickly on autopilot down the stairs for it to fully register before the man was out of sight.
It wasn’t until Sam reached the bottom of the stairs that something clicked, and he stopped to consider what he had seen. Did the man just sit down for a rest or did he pass out? Did he rest his head on the stairs or strike it has he hit the ground? Should he keep moving or go back to help?
People were rushing by him in droves and not very happy that Sam stopped in their midst. But Sam was very torn at the moment, and he needed to think. The metro platform was right there. He was so close to it. And then the airport after that. And then Lucy after that. And then he and Lucy on a beach after that. But he couldn’t move in that direction at the moment.
Sam checked his watch. 6:28. Damn. With all of his stuff, Sam was now moving back up the stairs. If anyone had been paying attention, Sam would have been a funny sight. Bag slung over his shoulder, rolly suitcase in his hand, and a package tucked under his arm, taking each step with very little in the way of grace.
But nobody was paying attention. Sam knew this because he wouldn’t have noticed himself either. And yet, there he was, lumbering up each step with as much care as possible so as to not fall backward and require medical attention.
Finally, Sam arrived at the midpoint landing and saw the man once again. He had collapsed up the stairs so that his lower body was on the landing but his head and torso were elevated up the next three stairs. Sam noticed his eyes were shut, but shut tight, the way you close them when you get a shot and don’t want to look at the needle.
At first, Sam had no idea what to do or say. He just stood there looking at that man on the ground. Also, probably a funny sight. “Are you OK?” Sam finally said, but more quietly than he intended.
Nothing.
Embarrassed by his meekness, Sam cleared his throat and tried again. “Are you OK?” Sam said, conscious of every syllable.
Startled, the man opened his eyes and recoiled a bit. He barely moved but looked around the scene wildly at first and then focused his eyes on Sam. They were dark and piercing. They said that he was tired. They said that he was scared.
Sam spoke again, this time more in the moment, “Do you need some help?”
But he just looked up at Sam either in a daze or in surprise or maybe both. Then he finally spoke. “Needed to rest,” the man said as he opened and closed his eyes almost in slow motion. He had jet black hair and dark brown skin. While he looked youthful, only in his 20’s, he seemed as if he had had a rough couple of years.
“Not the most…comfortable place for a rest,” Sam said with kindness and only a slight hint of sarcasm as he motioned to the area the man now occupied.
“You police?” the man said, opening one eye like there was a bright light shining in his face.
Sam found this funny, especially because right now he looked more like a stranded airport tourist. “No, I’m not police. Are you hurt? Can I help you get somewhere?”
Sam could tell the man was about to speak, but it seemed to take forever for him to get the words out. “I haven’t had much to eat. Got tired and very cold. Too many stairs,” the man said with an accent Sam couldn’t pinpoint, but which had a formal educated quality to it.
This was completely plausible. These metro stations go so deep that it could take someone 5 minutes to walk down the stairs if they were moving slowly. “Yeah, I can understand that. Are you trying to go somewhere? Can I help you up or down the stairs?”
The man did another slow-mo blink and then said, “Was going to Central Kitchen. Dinner only til 7:30. I might have missed it.”
Sam looked at his watch. 6:42. He winced a bit at how much time had passed but then refocused to the matter at hand. “You haven’t missed it but if you want to make it you’ll have to get up and get there soon.” Sam looked down the stairs toward the metro entrance and then back up to the street. “Do you think you can walk?”
The man thought for a moment, “Yes, probably.” The man unfolded his arms and began reaching for the railing.
“Here, let me help you,” Sam reached down and put his hand under his arm. The man was much lighter than Sam initially thought. This was both good and troubling. After a few grunts and strains, the man was up and had one arm around Sam’s shoulder for support. He was wobbly but seemed to be able to move. Sam, still holding on to his suitcase, began walking him towards the set of stairs that led up to the street.
The man hesitated and looked back to the metro entrance, “This is the wrong way.”
Sam nodded, “I know, you’ll never make it in time on the metro. I’ve got a better idea.”
They slowly began walking again, “You’re not taking me to the police, are you? Because I just want to be left alone.”
“Nope, no police. Just trying to do a nice thing,” Sam said as they began walking up the stairs. The man felt like he was gaining 10 pounds with each step up. “Besides, not sure if you have another choice right now.”
They slowly made their way up the steps. The man was holding on to Sam, and Sam was holding onto the railing, his suitcase and the photobook. With only a few more steps to go, they could see street-level ahead of them. They could already feel the wind chill.
Sam was straining under the weight and the awkwardness of the situation. He took the second to last step wrong and they both fell forward. Sam grabbed tight onto the man and the railing to catch themselves before they hit the ground. That was close.
“Is he alright? Do you need help?” An older, graying woman in a nice overcoat and scarf appeared at the top of the steps. The stumble must have alerted her to the unusual situation. “Is he hurt or something?”
Sam looked up at her and tried to give a warm smile, but he was experiencing some fatigue and still trying to recover from the misstep. “Or something,” he said back to her and then instantly worried that that sounded too sarcastic so he tried to clarify. “I found him on the stairs below. He’s trying to make it to Central Kitchen but got too hungry and cold to make it to the metro.”
The woman looked at the man with great concern and caring. “Oh my. Let me give you a hand.”
“I was headed over to that bench by the street,” Sam said pointing with his suitcase ahead of them.
The woman took some of the weight of the man off of Sam and for this, Sam was incredibly relieved. They made it to the bench and got the man safely seated. “Should I call an ambulance? He seems very weak.” The woman said pulling out her phone.
“No!” the man said. “No ambulance. Just need some food and some rest and I’ll be fine.” The woman seemed put off at first but let it roll off of her. She looked around and said, “OK, wait here and I’ll be right back.”
Sam didn’t know what she was doing, but he still had a plan that he hoped would work out. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and went to his rideshare app of choice. It seemed like there were cars nearby, so he booked one from here to Central Kitchen.
The woman returned with a paper tray. “I got you two hot dogs and a coffee. Hope this will help a bit.”
The man looked at her and then to Sam and then nodded. He seemed to be taken with emotion. She handed one of the hotdogs to the man with a warm smile. He quietly nodded his appreciation.
The two hot dogs were gone in less than a minute. Sam’s phone dinged as a car pulled up next to them. “I have to get to the airport, but I thought I would drop you at Central Kitchen on the way. Does that sound good?”
“I would be most grateful,” said the man still trying to avoid eye contact. He just looked down as he blew on the steam of the coffee warming his hands.
“I don’t have much planned this evening. How about I ride with you two and get him into the shelter? That way you can get to the airport,” said the woman.
“That would be amazing,” Sam said. He looked back to his phone to check the car’s progress hoping this new development would be the final element he needed to still get him to the airport in time.
7:24. A grey Honda civic pulled up with three different rideshare stickers. Out got a young man with deep olive skin, jet black hair, and gentle black eyes. Sam pegged his age at no more than thirty, yet he could have easily been five years younger. “Did one of you order a car?” the driver said with a strong accent Sam couldn’t exactly place.
“Right here,” Sam said, “and we have two stops.”
The driver momentarily looked at each of them, one after the other. Sam got concerned he might not take them because of their odd grouping.
“Are you waiting for someone else, my friends? Get in, it’s cold outside,” the driver said flashing a smile.
Sam was relieved and began gathering his things to put in the trunk the driver just opened. But the woman cleared her throat in a leading and oddly instructive way. She motioned her eyes for him to help them get in the car first. “Oh right, yes, you guys should get in first. You two take the back, I’ll sit in the front.”
Sam and the women helped the man off the bench and into the back of the car. The man was still weak but perhaps now more shocked at this strange turn of events. Once they were settled in, Sam went back for his things and got everything into the trunk and then they were off.
“I’m Aasim,” the driver said, extending his hand to Sam just as Sam was about to buckle his seat belt. Sam reached for Aasim’s hand and the seat belt flew back and whacked Sam in the face. The man in the back let out a loud reverberating laugh that filled the small car’s cabin. Sam thought to himself, “Classic,” and turned back to see that the woman was trying to contain her laughter under her scarf. Didn’t seem to phase their new driver at all; he still had his hand out, which Sam found comforting.
Sam buckled and then shook his hand, “I’m Sam, and these are two people I found at the metro station.”
The woman in the back snickered a little too much at Sam’s attempt at humor, probably using it as an excuse to let out her laugh from Sam’s buckle to the face. “I’m Elizabeth and this here is,” she said turning to the man sitting next to her. She paused, realizing that she didn’t know the man’s name. None of them did. There was a long awkward silence as Elizabeth and Sam looked at the man in the back seat, the man responsible for this most unusual detour in Sam’s life.
“My name is Kahlil,” said the man in the back seat, and he looked down at the floor. At that, Aasim turned around quickly and took a better look at his third passenger.
“As-salaam ‘alaykum,” said Aasim.
“Wa ‘alaykum salaam,” said Kahlil, almost under his breath.
“Where are you from my friend?” Aasim said turning back to keep his eyes on the road and check his smartphone with directions to Central Kitchen.
“I am from Syria,” said Kahlil, “but things have not gone as planned since I got to America.”
Aasim chuckled and said, “They never do, do they? I came to this country from Pakistan, all set to become a lawyer. Now I’m driving this car.”
Kahlil looked up and into Assim’s eyes through the rearview mirror with a soft smile. “My family only had enough money left to send me to try to make it to here. I was supposed to make money and send it back to the family so the rest could leave. I haven’t even been able to make enough to feed myself. I haven’t been able to reach anyone from my family in weeks.” Kahlil looked back at the floor. The car was silent.
The ride to Central Kitchen was relatively quick. It seemed that most of the traffic was headed in the opposite direction. Sam wanted to say something to break the tension or lighten the mood, but he didn’t want to say anything inappropriate. Instead, he just worried that the traffic to the airport, in the opposite direction, was going to be heavy.
8:05. When they reached the food pantry, they pulled to the curb. Aasim turned around and handed Kahlil a card. “Here, take this and don’t lose it. Call me. There are people that can help. You are not alone my friend.”
Kahlil took the card. He still looked ashen-faced but now with more life in his eyes, eyes that welled with held back tears. “I will call. Thank you. As-salaam ‘alaykum.“ Elizabeth, too, looked emotional but she simply smiled at Aasim who was still turned around. Then she opened the car door and began helping Kahlil out. Sam got out of the car as well and made sure he was on the other side of Kahlil to help him. Kahlil already seemed stronger and it took much less effort to support him.
They got halfway to the door of Central Kitchen and Elizabeth turned to Sam and said, “I’ve got him from here. I’ll make sure Kahlil gets settled and taken care of. Don’t you have a plane to catch?” Sam nodded and put his hand on Kahlil’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’ll be OK?”
“I just needed a little bit of help. Thank you, my friend, for stopping when you did,” said Kahlil, “I’ll be OK now.” Sam really wanted to believe that.
8:11. Sam got back into the front seat of Aasim’s car. Aasim was back to business. “Airport, right?” he said. Sam nodded. “When is your flight?”
Sam checked his watch and winced a bit. “Nine!” he said, “Do you think I’ll still make it?”
Aasim cocked his head to one side and thought for a second. This was a second longer than Sam liked. “Yes,” said Aasim, sounding unconvinced, “but, I’ll pick up the speed a little.”
“Okay,” Sam said, but while he was concerned about the flight, and the time, and meeting Lucy, his mind was still caught up in the events of the past hour. “Do you think things will work out for Kahlil?”
Aasim thought for a moment. Again, not what Sam wanted.
“Not sure,” he said finally. “It is really hard to come to this country. Harder still from the middle east, especially after 9/11.”
A horn sound from outside the car and Aasim swerved hard to the left, darting across three lanes of traffic, and pressing Sam flat against the passenger window. An angry tour bus driver was shaking his fist in their direction. Now Sam wasn’t sure if he should be more worried about Kalil, making his flight, or simply making out of the car alive.
Not missing a beat, Aasim picked back up where he left off. “And now, after the election, there’s even more fear on all sides. Not good. People do stupid things with fear. They do not help those who are different. And those who need help don’t ask and can’t trust. Not good. Hang on.”
Aasim slammed on the breaks, and then floored the gas, both narrowly avoiding the car ahead of them and swerving to the right lane all in one seemingly impossible movement. Sam became more uneasy and grabbed the handle above his head. Aasim threw Sam a quick quizzical look out of the corner of his eye. “You said to, ‘hang on’,” Sam said as he tightened his grip.
Aasim was weaving in and out of cars as if in some car racing game with little concern.
“He does know the language,” said Aasim said, “much more than I did when I came to this country. Most likely he was well educated in Syria and his family had some money. Why they did not get out too, I do not know,” he said now with more concern in his voice, “but it is very hard for him if he does not have family here. And I don’t know his status. Not sure he can work. Legally. Very hard, if not. Not good. That’s our exit.”
“You’re not going to make it from here,” Sam said, tightening his grip. From the left lane, Aasim turned the wheel sharply to the right and maneuvered through three lanes of traffic. They barely made the exit.
They slowed down a bit. Sam wasn’t sure if it was because there was less traffic now or because that turn was too close to call for even Aasim’s liking. But it did give Sam a moment to catch his breath and loosen his grip. It also gave him a chance to register Aasim’s assessment of Kahlil’s situation.
After some quiet Sam said, “I read the news, check Twitter, keep up with politics. But I don’t think I had any concept of any of this. I mean, I think we Americans take all of this, freedom, the immigration process, basic human rights for granted.”
Sam paused a moment to glance at Aasim for some acknowledgment. He was just staring straight ahead so Sam continued, “We don’t have any concept of how hard it might be to come here. This is where you’re supposed to come if you’re looking for a better life.”
Again, Sam glanced at Aasim for a reaction, but his expression was unreadable. Sam took this as a good sign and climbed further atop his soapbox, “I think even us liberal types, think coming to this country is still like it was a hundred years ago. You know, Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty and all that.”
At that, Aasim responded, “Forgive me for saying this, my friend, but that is all a bullshit myth.”
Sam sunk a bit lower in his seat and had a momentary flush of embarrassment, as if he had just gotten an answer wrong in school.
Aasim continued, “Yes, this is a great country, there is freedom, especially if you are white and a man, but all the rest, much of that is a myth, like Noah and the flood. It is a romanticized fable. Even for the people who came through Ellis Island 150 years ago, it was hard, and cruel, and there was injustice. The difference is that those people were needed. Each head had value.”
Aasim paused while he swerved past a luggage filled minivan going too slow in the left lane for his liking. “There was a great desire for human labor back then. The need is not the same now. It’s so much easier for a country to have morals that say, ‘Bring me your poor, tired, and such,’ when there is a need for those people. Now we each have to fight for a smaller and smaller piece of this American dream. And then for us, especially us Muslims, when you get up close to that dream, poof, you realize it’s a fiction.”
Taking this all in, Sam looked out the window at the other cars on the road, zooming around unaware of this conversation. “I guess what I was trying to say was that all those people, the ones at the metro, all of them who were rushing past had no notion of what Kahlil was up against. They, we, I just saw a bum,” Sam said not bothering to gauge Aasim’s reaction this time.
Sam turned is focus back inside the car. He scanned the dash a found a picture of a younger Aasim with an older man, an older woman, and a girl who looked like she could be a younger sister. Both women were wearing headscarves and the picture looked like it was taken on a family vacation.
Aasim, focused on the road, was still stoic.
Sam had the earlier events on slow motion, rewinding them again and again. “I mean, It’s not like there aren’t plenty of news report about the plight of the immigrant, or even those who are refugees fleeing to America for safety. But it only gets so deep. It’s the kind of thing you chit chat about while having a latte or glass of cabernet, but then you go about your lives and binge watch the new series on Netflix. It’s so easy to not be connected to actual humans who are suffering. To just walk right by them, the same way I did at first.”
“So what made you stop to help this time?” Aasim said, checking directions on his phone attached to his dashboard.
“I don’t know really. Normally I would have walked right by. And, to be honest, will probably walk right by again in the future. But this time, I saw something in his eyes that got to me. I think it might have been despair. And then it transferred to me for just a split second. That’s when I knew I needed to turn back and help. I don’t have another reason than that.”
“Where are you going?” Aasim said.
Getting lost in his thoughts, Sam said, “Now I’m not so sure. Some things are clearer while others are much more hazy.”
“No, I mean, where are you going?” he said, pointing to the green airport signs overhead, “Which airline?”
Sam, feeling a bit discombobulated, said, “Huh? Oh, um, I think it’s Delta.” And with that reality raced back into Sam’s head. The airline, the flight, Costa Rica, the vacation. Lucy. Wonderful Lucy. “Yes, Delta.”
8:29. They were both quiet until Aasim pulled up to the curb next to the Delta gates. He put the car in park and turned to Sam. “Well, Sam, you made it. I think you will have just enough time to make your flight. I hope you have a nice time, wherever you’re going. You are a good man for what you did for Kahlil today. It’s the small things that make a world of difference to people. Don’t forget that,” Aasim said, extending his hand to Sam’s.
“I hope Kahlil will be OK. I hope he, at least, has a chance,” Sam said, taking Aasim’s hand and shaking.
“Come on, I will get your bag. You have a flight to catch,” Aasim said, as he got out of his car. Sam looked down at his watch for the first time since they got in the car, it was 8:31. The full rush he was in before the metro station came back to him in an instant. He sprinted out of the car and to the trunk where Aasim was waiting with his bag. He grabbed everything from Aasim and said, “Thanks again! I gotta run. Let me know if you hear anything from Kahlil.”
“Yes. Go!” Aasim said as he put Sam’s messenger bag over his head for him. “Thanks!” Sam said, and he turned and ran towards the rotating doors of the airport’s entrance. Sam’s heart began racing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw a slew of text messages from Lucy. The last one read, “Waiting outside the security line. You have the tickets. I hope you’re on your way!!” His heart sank. Sam’s pace got even faster now, deciding that responding to the text was just a waste of time at this point because he’s just moments away from the security line.
At this point, Sam couldn’t remember which gate he was going so he made a quick stop at the “Departures” screen. Gate, gate, gate, where’s the gate for San Jose? Sam was searching. There, Gate C32. And Sam was in luck; the flight had been delayed to 9:25. They weren’t even boarding yet. Sam almost let out a “Yes!” and jumped up in the air, but then he thought better of it. Still, he had to move. The gates were all downstairs so he dashed to the escalators and took two steps at a time to the bottom. Sam sprinted past the airport shops and stalls beginning to think, once again, about Lucy. Would she be annoyed with him? Would she hug him? Would she believe him when he told her about the event of the last two hours? He had no clue, but all he wanted to do was see her and find out.
And there she was, about 50 feet away. His heart skipped a beat and he nearly lost grip on his bags. This happened to him when they met, and he saw her from a distance. She was looking at her phone. Worried. He was about to shout her name when he heard his name instead. Faint, in the distance, and from behind him. But it was his name. It registered subconsciously, at first.
Then again, “Sam!” This time he stopped walking and turned around. He scanned the crowd but didn’t see anything or anyone. Then he heard it again. “Sam!” It was coming from upstairs. Then he saw him. It was Aasim. He was jumping up and down. Waving his hands over his head. He looked panicked. And then Sam saw why. In his flailing hands, Aasim was holding a brown wrapped package over his head. The gift. Lucy’s gift.
Sam looked down under his arm where he had been so attentive to it before he saw Kahlil at the metro. But now, Sam didn’t have it. Aasim did. And as Sam’s brain caught up to the circumstances time slowed down because Aasim started running towards him. First down the stairs and then along the expansive airport corridor.
This did not go unnoticed. First, people moved out of his way. Then one woman screamed. The scream caused more people to turn around, which in turn lead to more people turning around, moving out of the way, and screaming. It only took an instant for a full panic to break out all around Aasim. The look of a young Arab man running frantically through the airport with a brown wrapped package was just too much for people to handle.
By the time Aasim realized what was going on, it was too late. Ten police officers and airport security seemed to appear from nowhere. Some with small handguns, some with larger automatic looking ones. All of them drawn and pointing at Aasim.
“Down on the ground! Now!” One police officer shouted as he moved in closer to Aasim.
Aasim stopped in an instant. “Down on the ground!” The officer shouted again, closer still. Aasim was now only about 25 feet away from Sam, and Sam could see the fear in Aasim’s eyes. Something clicked in and time sped up again. He looked back and saw that Lucy was watching everything like everyone else. She saw Sam for the first time. When their eyes meet Sam felt a warmth and a strength. He looked back at Aasim and began to run towards him.
Sam found a hole in the circle of police officers and ran through it. He turned around and put his hands up. “No, stop,” Sam shouted, “this is my fault!” For the first time in Sam’s life he, Sam, was staring down the barrel of a gun. Actually, ten guns. Sam gulped hard.
From the distance, Sam heard someone shout, “No!” It was Lucy. She ran up closer. Sam could see her clearly now. She gave Sam a, “What have you gotten yourself into,” look.
“Move out of the way!” the main officer shouted, shocked and slightly confused.
“No,” Sam said, “This is my fault. This man was my driver and I left a package, a gift, in the car. I was rushing to catch my flight. He found it and was running to try to give it to me. This is my fault. This man was trying to do a nice thing.” Sam said all of this in one breath as fast as he could and made a loud inhale sound.
Aasim was laying flat on his stomach still clutching the brown wrapped package in his hand. “What’s in the package?” the main officer asked.
“It’s a gift. For my girlfriend.” Sam blushed as he glanced at Lucy for a split second. The officer didn’t seem to share the sentiment. “What’s in the package, exactly?” he said, still barking orders.
“It’s a photo book. Handbound with images my girlfriend took. She’s right there behind you. This man didn’t do anything.”
The officer blinked for a second as he processed what to do next. “You on the ground. Slide the package in this way.” Aasim picked his head up slightly and said, “What?” The officer barked again louder, “Slide it here!”
The entire airport lobby was quiet. Aasim did as he was told and slide the package towards the officer that could be heard by everyone. The officer lowered his pistol and reached down and grabbed the package. He turned it over in his hands to examine it. Then he ripped the brown paper off of it in one fluid motion. Sam winced. His carefully crafted plan was ruined. There would be no tearful unwrapping by Lucy now. Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight.
When he opened them he saw the officer flipping through the pages. And he saw Lucy looking over his shoulder, tears running down her face. Sam welled up too and choked it back. The officer closed the book shut. “Pat them both down,” the officer motioned one officer to Sam and Aasim.
He turned to Lucy and handed her the book. “This seems to belong to you.”
Lucy took it from him in disbelief.
When the “pat down” was over, the main officer dismissed his men and told the crowd that all was clear. Slowly, the throngs of people went back to the bustle of airport travel.
The officer turned to Aasim and told him that he was free to go. “But don’t ever run through a crowded airport again screaming and waving a package in the air.”
The officer then turned to Sam and seemed about to say something but then just nodded and walked off. And then, Lucy, Aasim, and Sam were alone in a sea of people.
Lucy grabbed Sam tight and said, “That was really stupid, brave, but stupid.” Then she added, “That book, my photography. I’m stunned. It’s, it’s, I don’t have the words. It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you!” Sam just held her as tight as he could.
Aasim spoke next, “I’m really sorry Sam. I wasn’t thinking. I just didn’t want you to forget the gift,” he said. “I thought I was a dead man. Thank you.”
“Aasim, I don’t know what I would have done with myself if I lost this gift,” Sam said. “I should be thanking you.” Sam reached out and shook Aasim’s hand.
“You both should go,” Aasim said. “Don’t you have a you have a plane to catch?”
Sam looked down at his watch, it was 8:54. They could still make it. “Lucy, we should go!” Sam said to Lucy. “Thank you again,” Sam said to Aasim.
“No problem, my friend. Go!” Aasim said.
“Thank you, Aasim. That was very brave. Stupid but brave.” Lucy said with a smile. Aasim smiled back. And with that, they disappeared through the crowded security line. Aasim let the people rush past him.
9:21. Sam and Lucy buckled into their seats and Lucy pulled out her photo book and began flipping carefully through each page. “I still don’t know how you did this. It’s amazing. I’m kind of speechless.” She turned to him and gave him a soft gentle kiss. Sam’s stomach did that fluttering thing again.
“This is you. Your eye. I just had it bound in a book,” Sam said.
“Thank you, Sam. It’s really special,” Lucy said. She gave him another little kiss on the lips. Sam rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes.
The CLICK of the intercom could be heard overhead. “Well folks, sorry for the delay,” the captain said. “One of our tires was flat, if you can believe that. We’ve got a smooth flight ahead of us and temperatures in the low 80’s when we land tomorrow morning in Costa Rica. So get comfortable and get some rest.” CLICK
Lucy looked up from her book at Sam on her shoulder. He was asleep before the plane took off.
Also published on Medium.