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Missed Connections
----at the Santa Barbara Airport
Descending, in our forty-seat airplane, I saw an older man had parked his car At the edge of the runway. He waved At us, so I waved, but we were too far
Apart to see each other, and he was not Welcoming me anyway. Near the back Of the plane, a woman, hair in a knot, Clutching a tattered Vintage paperback,
Waved and smiled and hugged her seatmate. "That's my husband," she said. "I haven't seen Him in ten years. It's so great, it's so great." She shook and wept; it was quite a scene—
A mystery—and I was hungry to know Why a wife and husband had lived apart For a decade. I wanted to ask, but no, I decided to imagine the parts
They'd been playing: She was the Red Cross Nurse who'd been kidnapped by militant Rebels, then blindfolded and marched across The border, but he'd remained diligent
For ten epic years, pressuring despots And presidents, until the March dawn When Australian tourists spotted Her staggering across a Thai hotel lawn.
Starved and weak, she fell into their arms. "I've been released," she said. "I've been released." Traded for ammunition and small arms, And treated for malnutrition and disease,
She was only now, six weeks after rescue, Reuniting with her husband. She was first Off the airplane—we all gave her the room— And she, aching with a different thirst,
Burst through the security gates And rushed into her husband's embrace. Later, after they had gone, as I waited For my bags, I saw a friendly face—
A young woman who'd just witnessed What I'd witnessed. I wiped away tears. "Ten years," I said. "I'd die from the stress." "Oh, no," she said. "It wasn't ten years.
It was ten days." Jesus, I had misheard The old woman and created glory Out of the ordinary. Just one word, Misplaced, turned a true and brief story
Into a myth. And, yes, it was lovely To see how the long-in-love can stay In love. But who truly gets that lonely After only ten days away?
I thought I had witnessed an epic— A Santa Barbara elderly Odyssey— But it was something more simplistic. It was a love story, small and silly,
And this is cruel, but here's my confession: Depending on the weather or my mood, I'll repeat the myth because it's more impressive Than something as tender as the truth.
Sherman Alexie
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:hi:
RL
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