40. JACK

Iwas hurrying through the streets of Chicago in a taxi. Thoughts of Paul consumed my mind, but now I was doing something.

As the cab surged forward, I felt a surge of adrenaline course through my veins, propelling me toward the unknown with unwavering resolve. The streets of Chicago faded into a blur of lights and shadows, each passing landmark a testament to the distance I had yet to traverse.

As I raced toward the airport, my heart was pounding. With each passing mile, the weight of my purpose grew heavier, a burden I carried willingly in pursuit of reconciliation.

He would not speak to me, but I would not let him go. I would show him what I felt.

Arriving at Chicago airport, I paid the cab driver and sprinted inside the bustling chaos of the terminal. My eyes quickly found solace in the glowing departures board, searching for the next flight to New York that I could reasonably catch, making it through security, and getting to the gate in time.

I found one: an American Airlines leaving in under an hour. Navigating the crowds of travelers, I approached the airline ticket desk. Behind the counter, a young woman was smiling at me.

“How can I help?”

“Can I get on your next flight to New York?”

She looked at her computer screen.

“The flight to New York is in just over forty-five minutes. Can you make it to the gate in that time?”

Without hesitation, I nodded fervently and got out my credit card. “Yes, I’ll take it.”

As the transaction processed, the computer seemed to lag.

“Sorry, sir, the system is slow today.”

My impatience bubbled to the surface.

“Is it going to take much longer? I have to get to New York.” She smiled. And then I heard myself saying out loud, “I’m going to tell someone I love them.”

The teller’s expression shifted into one of sheer romantic joy.

“Lucky girl,” she sighed.

“It’s not a girl. It’s a guy. I’m in love with a guy,” I confessed. She looked at me with some surprise, as if she would never have expected me to say it, but here I was saying it. She smiled beautifully.

“Then he’s a very lucky guy, sir.”

“No,” I said. “No, I am the lucky one.”

“You better hurry,” she said, handing me my boarding pass as soon as it printed out. “You don’t wanna miss your flight.”

I absolutely did not. Clutching the pass tightly, I raced toward the security point and passed through it.

“Don’t you have any luggage, sir?” the airport guard asked me.

“Just what I’m standing up in,” I replied.

The guy smiled.

“Traveling light.”

But the metal detector still went off, and I was called back to take off my belt. It buzzed again. I had to take off my shoes, and all the time, the clock was ticking. I couldn’t miss this flight to New York.

As I rushed through to the gate, the airport’s hustle and bustle blurred around me – all the tourists, all the stores, the constant movement of human traffic. Every step brought me closer to the gate, closer to the possibility of getting to him.

The gate attendant began to close the door just as I arrived, shouting, “Wait! Wait!”

She held the door open, and I made it onto the plane.

I ran down the elevated walkway and entered the plane. The stewardess checked my seat and told me to hurry.