10:08 a.m. - 2007-06-07
A Minor Obligation
I have an airport pick-up to make in about a half hour and I'm nervous as hell. So much could go wrong. I don't see these people very much. The car ride away from the airport could be fraught or awkward. I could park in the wrong spot and get towed, like that one time at O'Hare (which, by the way, sucks). Or any number of other small catastrophes could occur. Nonetheless, I'll be heading off for the airport soon.
The airport doesn't care. It merely stands there, year after year, oblivious to all the comings and goings, the reunions both joyous and melancholy. The never-ending streams of humanity surrendering themselves to the waiting maw of jet-propelled monsters. No, the airport cares not a whit, but just stands, obdurate and cold, oblivious to circumstance and the passage of time. But I can't afford not to care. The passage of time to me is a very real concern. I have an airport pick-up to make. It doesn't matter who the people are. They could be my best friends in the world or people I never want to see again. It doesn't matter. I'm committed. Soon I'll be driving toward the airport.
Time is growing short. I can't think about what lies ahead; all I can do is act. Act without emotion or expectation. A commitment has been made. The dye is set. Must leave soon.
Must leave. Can't leave. I'll leave.
