It was a crisp, clear fall evening as I made my way to the airport seventy five miles away to await the arrival of my wife from her trip to the west coast to visit college friends. My last check of the airline app indicated that the flight was on time and she would be arriving close to midnight after a week-long "girls' trip" that had included sun and surf, shopping and the consumption of lots of "grape." My last conversation with Ellen had occurred earlier in the day as they said their "good byes" and started the journey home.
Cell phone lots have become a norm at airports throughout the country since 9/11 as a way to keep vehicles from congregating at arrival gates fearing the ability of a terrorist to get close to the terminal with his or her weapon of choice. As a result, traffic around airports did seem to be less congested except for the few who made the circuitous route around the airport hoping for perfect timing as the arriving passenger exited baggage claim as the driver passed. I, for one, am happy to pull into the cell phone lot, roll down my windows, turn up the radio, and enjoy the solitude that seems to escape me.
Returning to the Midwest from the West coast, Ellen's flight was four hours so there were no calls or texting until she landed to let me know I could make my way to pick her up at baggage claim. So I found my parking space in the cell phone lot and settled in to await the "landed" message.
The night sky was bright and the moon full. I had stopped for a soda and was prepared to enjoy a perfect evening. Cars were coming and going from the lot as loved ones and colleagues arrived. The lot was never full, but as time passed, fewer and fewer cars remained as the last of the day's flights arrived.
It had been a short while since the last car joined me for the wait when a sporty car rolled into the lot. The solo driver circled the lot a time or two as if looking for the perfect spot when she pulled into the space next to me facing the opposite direction so that our driver's side doors were adjacent to one another. Glancing out my open window, I saw the driver to be a thirty-something redhead wearing a yellow sweater that revealed her neckline and most of her shoulders. She wore her hair short; stopping at the jaw line, and it had a natural curve or wave to it and appeared to be slightly damp. I caught myself staring and jerked my head back to the right to avoid being caught ogling this auburn-haired gem.
"Excuse me," she, said as I thought I had been caught in my admiration.
"I'm sorry," I responded with an unnecessary apology although knowing my eyes had lingered on her image a bit too long. "Can I help you?"
"I saw your window was down and I thought it would be easier to ask for your help. My cell phone is dead and I'm driving my husband's car. He must have packed his car charger. His flight is due anytime and, well, I can't sit in the cell phone lot without a cell phone." She shared and finished with an apologetic smile of her own. "Do you have a charger?"
"I do, but it's one of those pads that is part of my console. If you'd like to give me your phone, I'll give it a charge," I offered while realizing I'd just asked a stranger to turn her phone over to me.
Again, the apologetic smile appeared as she asked, "Would you mind if I sat in the car while it charged? I'm expecting a call, and well, you know, phones have a lot of stuff on them."
Surprised at her willingness to join me in my car, I was happy to oblige and I scurried to move the accumulation of mail, CD jewel cases, and a newspaper that was stacked in the passenger seat. As I completed my cleanup effort, she appeared at the passenger side door. The yellow sweater barely reached the waistline of the yoga pants she wore and that enhanced her long legs and athletic ass. I reached across and opened the door from the inside and she plopped into the seat next to me as she extended her hand and introduced herself.
"Hi, I'm Lili with two 'L's' and two 'I's'," she declared in an introduction she had obviously practiced her entire life.
Appreciating the bounce in both her voice and her sweater, I countered, "I'm David. Pleased to meet you Lili with two 'L's' and two 'I's'," as I took her phone and placed it on the pad for charging, and she cozied into her seat.
Without prompting, Lili began to share her circumstances. She was married and her husband traveled for his work. He had been on the west coast for the past two weeks and he was to arrive just before midnight. She had lost track of time and had showered and thrown on some clothes with no time to dry her hair and fearing she would not be on time for his arrival which would not sit well with him. Her drive to the airport was about the same distance as mine but from the other side the state. The cell phone had died in route to the airport and she had pulled into the lot in search of a "friend" who might charge her device. Luckily, I am the chosen friend.
As a few more cars pulled out of the lot, I asked, "What flight is your husband's?"
"Delta 3269 from San Francisco." She answered.
"What a coincidence! My wife is on the same flight." I exclaimed realizing as I spoke that I had shared my status as a married man and that it probably wasn't that much of a coincidence inasmuch as we were sitting in a sparsely populated cell phone lot late in the evening.
"Oh, you're married? I didn't see a ring," she observed.
Hoping to redirect the conversation, I checked the app for the first time since arriving and saw that Delta 3269 had been rerouted. Without comment, I called Delta to get more information as Lili looked on curiously.
