Hey @steemfluencer! This one I did write on the plane.
Arrivals
Meeting your arriving party at the bag claim is somewhere between anticlimactic and insulting. There used to be planes in view, descending like wild geese and then lumbering to the gate like...well, also like wild geese, but now, all you ever got to see was the bowels of the industrial building, smelling of machine oil and a long time stuck in coach.
Drake consulted the video board. 4:22 from Toronto, bag claim F. Far end of the dim concourse. Naturally.
And the girl was, if Drake was honest, only marginally worth it. Nice enough, in the way that impresses mom, but without any of the flash and fire that said the honeymoon would be worth the wait. Still. Dad said stability. The Boss said, "We need indicators that you're going to be in this thing for the long haul." Since those were the same people, the message had stuck with repetition.
Drake paused, arms folded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, while a woman with three disheveled children wrangled them screaming to her cart, and wearily collected a couple of shopworn bags. Seeing him at last, she mumbled something that might have been an apology and tugged one of the urchins out of his path. He swept by.
It wasn't as if he disliked Lilian. With luck she'd be as unobservant as she was unremarkable, and after they were married his social life could continue more or less uninterrupted. Drake would show the appropriate solidity, Lilian would look relatively decorative at the wedding, and then, well, promotions and business as usual.
Bag claim F was essentially deserted. Drake scowled and checked the board again. 4:22 from Toronto, now showing arriving at 4:40, and bag claim C. His hand clenched and a muscle worked in his jaw. He held his eyes closed for a long moment, but the universe didn't care, and there was nothing for it but to retrace his steps.
On the way, one of the urchins rolled a stuffed lion in front of him. Foot raised, Drake could almost feel the satisfying thump as the animal went sailing down the vinyl tile of the concourse. Instead he stopped, bent, and picked up the yellow toy. A tiny hand snaked out and snatched it with a shout. The boy bolted around the E carousel. His mother glanced back and said, "Thank you." Drake nodded.
A couple hundred thousand people milled about the billboard showing C, chattering like monkeys at feeding time and throwing looks at the escalator thirty or so yards off. It rolled silently into the floor and no one came down. Drake checked his watch. The plane wasn't on the ground yet. He waited next to the half-dozen seats until someone moved, then sat down heavily and stretched out.
To the left, at bag claim B, the last couple of passengers milled about their silent metal track, hoping for continued signs of life. But the yawning gap into the innards of the bag handling apparatus clanged shut. The rotating orange warning light winked out. The few hopeful bags drifted to a stop. A groan went up, audible even over the nearby party atmosphere. A couple shifted, scanning the walls for the baggage office, and the scenery markedly improved.
Arms folded and a grimace on her face, a gorgeous redhead stood by the silent carousel. A bag lay at her feet, but she craned her neck back and forth looking for another. None appeared. Time for some chivalry.
Drake rolled to his feet and approached. When he got a few feet away, he turned toward the escalator and began backing up, as if unaware there were people behind him. His heel kicked a bag and he stumbled.
"Hey, watch it!" The girl grabbed his arm to keep him from falling.
Drake hauled himself to his feet with her arm as a winch. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wasn't paying attention." He checked his jeans and white button-down, as if making sure he was in one piece, then looked down at the bag, and up to the girl. Close up, she wasn't classically pretty, but there was a bend to her nose that gave her face character, and her eyes were a green that sped his pulse alarmingly.
Drake said, "I take it this wasn't all of your luggage."
"No," she said, with some kind of accent. Irish, maybe? "I had another, the one with all my things. This is just in case," she said, kicking the olive-green duffel.
Drake looked back and forth over the carousel. "None of these are yours, of course."
She gave him a grim smile. "Not any of the four times they came past."
"No one seems to want them. Maybe you could go through them and see if there's anything there you like."
This earned a laugh, and he let his Grade One smile show through. "I'm Drake," he said. "I'm just waiting here for a friend." He pointed at carousel D.
"Erin," she said, turning away to look for the officials.
"The lost bag area is over there," he said, pointing back by bag claim A. "I wish I didn't know that from personal experience, but I've flown this airline before."
"I knew they'd lose the important one. I can make do with this, but..." She blew out a breath in disgust.
"You're a long way from home. No one here to meet you?"
She shook her head. "There were some arrangements, but the cheap flight got me here two days before them."
"Do you need a ride someplace?" Drake said.
Moment of truth, right here. She looked him straight in the eye and considered. A very brief, very interesting smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. But it faded, and she reached down for her bag. "That's kind. No, I better take care of this bag, and you have your friend to wait for."
Worth a shot. He stuck out a hand. "Good luck," he said. "I hope your bag doesn't have a better adventure than you do."
Her hand was firm and dry, and stayed in his a heartbeat longer than necessary. "One can hope." And she turned, tossed her bag over one shoulder, and headed off toward the bag office. Drake watched her go with a connoisseur's appreciation. Now there was a woman.
Right. Lilian. He squared his shoulders back toward the escalator. A couple pairs of boots showed up toward the top. Passengers, at last. For a half second the throng parted and there, twenty feet to his right, was a face he knew. Sol? By Heaven. And with an armful of flowers. What on earth was he doing here?
And then Drake knew.
For a moment, the sight of Sol took him right back to college, and his friend coming breathlessly into the dorm room after the first dance of the year. "I met the girl of my dreams," he said.
"Already?" Drake said.
Sol threw his jacket on the bed and flopped down on top of it. "No doubt about it. She's sweet and funny and I've never met anyone like her."
Drake gazed out the window, and halfway across the quad a gaggle of females jabbered. One of them pointed back over her shoulder toward the building. "That wouldn't be her, would it?" he said.
Sol vaulted off the bed like a gymnast and scurried over. He squinted, trying to make out faces. "Maybe. Yes! That one, with the hair in a ponytail." He pointed, as if it would do any good at this distance.
"Great girl, you say?" Drake said.
"Hey, now. Don't get any ideas. I don't think she'd go for your type anyway."
Drake, who had a much clearer idea of what a girl would and would not "go for", laughed and playfully punched his roommate in the shoulder. "Just admiring your taste, buddy. Don't worry."
Less than a week later, Sol's dream girl spent most of the night making out with Drake. She was interesting for a few days, but Drake never could see what Sol had been so excited about. Not that time, nor the two or three times since.
And here they were, at the airport, and the same scene was playing out again. How did Sol know Lilian? Wait...that party, before Lilian left for Brazil for the summer. Hadn't they both been there? Drake hadn't paid much attention at the time--there having been a fresh blonde on the scene, but, yeah, come to think of it, they had been talking. Hilarious.
Lilian would choose him, Drake. They all chose him, when he let them. And Sol would be left in the cold again, only this time it was for good, wasn't it?
Passengers filed down the escalator to shouts of welcome. Mothers, girlfriends, old friends stepped forward and threw arms around the arrivals like a scene from that movie, the British one with Bilbo Baggins playing a porn star. That was how it was supposed to be. He could do that. Lilian would be surprised, surely, but if he got there first, he'd stay first. So that's what he would do. For Dad. For the corner office.
The flowing cloud began dispersing, and Sol reappeared, his back mostly to Drake, his whole frame fidgeting as he craned his neck for a better view up the escalator. He was really into this. The look on his face would be priceless.
Yeah, priceless.
And the cost of what Drake would give up? For what? Edging out his friend again? A chance to be more like his father? Fifty thousand a year? Well, okay. Fifty thousand a year.
The line of arrivals slowed to a trickle. The bag carousel blared a warning and kicked into life. Bags spilled onto the shiny track, and the crowd surged forward, pushing Sol aside. A big man, heedless, thudded into him, and the flowers dropped to the tile, Sol scrabbling after them with a cry.
At the top of the escalator, a familiar set of pumps appeared, attached to fair but unspectacular legs. Perfect timing. Drake stepped forward, arrowing through the throng.
And then he bent and gathered up a pair of stray daisies. Sol's head came up, bedraggled flowers clutched to his chest. Drake watched his eyes, saw the flash of recognition, then the confusion. Then the terror. Color drained from his face. "Drake," he said, voice no more than a whisper.
Drake handed over the daisies and lifted Sol to his feet. "Sol, buddy! It's been forever! What are you doing here?" The Grade One smile was back, and Drake found it took no effort to keep it there.
Sol's mouth opened, closed again. His eyes flicked over Drake's shoulder and widened. "I..."
"Hey, sorry. I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm meeting someone. Her flight came in half an hour ago. I'm so late!"
Sol's face broke into an tentative, incredulous smile. "Half hour ago?"
"Yeah. Oh, there she is. Hey, great to see you. Call me and let's catch up." Drake strode off away from the escalator. He didn't turn around. As he passed bag claim C, some undefined weight dropped off and lay there with the unclaimed bags. Ahead, a flash of red hair exited toward the street. Drake broke into a jog.