I wouldn’t have been in this situation had I not touched that guitar.
Earlier that day I had picked it up from this hidden repair shop off of Oak St. My boyfriend, Ty, bought it for $100 from a man with one arm. I wondered if the man tried to play it with the stub and finally gave up. I wondered if he tried at all. When he saw two people were picking up the guitar, he gave us another one for free. I wondered if he thought we were a musician couple.
It only took two days until it cracked. I mistakenly tried to pick it up and dropped it on the cement.
“I’ll pay for the repairs,” Ty said.
The problem was, he would have to leave New Orleans by the weekend. How could we get it back to Virginia?
“I’ll fly a big airline,” I said, “they’ll check it for free!”
*
5 p.m. – New Orleans Airport
I carried that guitar to my gate in a nice black case. Can’t break it if it’s locked up! I waited for the flight agent to announce, “You can check in your luggage for free blah blah blah.” Then, I rushed to the counter to check it under the plane.
7 p.m. – Boarding
Cheerily making my way to my seat, I noticed a space free in between me and this lady in a yellow tracksuit. She was on a call with someone sighing, “I had two seizures about the stress of getting on this plane. I’m just glad I got on.” I could understand her worries to an extent. It wouldn’t be long until I could finally feel the cool Norfolk air.
The plane began to motion backwards. I eagerly typed on my phone, “I’m moving! Love you!” I’ve done this dozens of times through this airport. I could feel the wheels of the airplane moving forward. We waited in line for the next flight to take off. That would be the cue to press the on button on my headphones. I was ready to be in the sky.
“Sorry folks, we have a mechanical issue… he air pressure levels are a bit funky so we’ll be going back to our gate.” My heart crumbled all over the carpet.
Important note when flying to Norfolk, Virginia: they almost always make you go to the Charlotte Airport, the home of American Airlines. It’s a five-hour drive from Charlotte to my house or a quick fifty-minute flight. My connecting flight was at 9:40 p.m. The next flight to Norfolk would be at 7 a.m. I unbuckled my seatbelt to prepare for a long night.
As we de-boarded the plane, all I could do was text Ty the horrible news. He called: “I’ll drive there and you can drive back!” He is always the romantic type, but would it really be worth the trip? “No,” I said, “we’ve waited 22 days. What’s one more?” I felt my throat croaking at the words.
9 p.m. – Reboarding
We all gradually lined up to be reseated. No one wore a smile. I felt a tap on my shoulder, “Hello little lady, do you play the guitar?” It was an old man standing behind me.
“Yes I do!”
He seemed star-struck with his mouth agape. Is it really that impressive? The line was taking forever. “My whole row is empty," he said, "want to sit with me?” I cursed the above average outfit I threw on that morning. I politely declined.
10 p.m. – Charlotte Airport
I picked up the guitar from outside the plane door, throwing the strap on my back. I should have been more careful with precious cargo, but holding the tears from exploding was the most important goal for me. The whole flight went single file to line up at the American Airlines help desk. It would be another hour before I could finally get my hotel reservation. As I stepped out of line, I noticed someone waving towards me. Who was waiting for me?
It was the old man. He followed me throughout the airport and continued to ask me about my guitar abilities. “Are you in a band? Where do you play? What genre do you like?” I continued to be nice while trying to not give away how much I disdained his curiosity. “I’m in my roommate’s band. We play at college bars. I like rock.”
When we walked into the shuttle area, he bid me adieu, hopping into a nearby taxi. I patiently waited to see him leave before ordering my ride. Ty was spamming my phone, “Who is this guy? Are you okay? Does he know your name?” I had to text him about the old man. You can’t ever be too careful.
12 a.m. – Hotel
When I finally arrived at the hotel, just my luck, I saw the old man entered in front of me.
Ugh.
I hopped out of the car and behind me I heard two voices, “We’re in the right place! There's the guitar girl!” It was a couple from my last flight. Was I really that memorable? This guitar felt more like a target than an instrument. I walked in with them, and the old man was immediately by my hip. He laughed, “Are you stalking me?” He could just be a nice old man. He could just be friendly. The image of being kidnapped in the night stirred inside me. I entertained him, waiting for the clerk to hand me my key. Room 420. Hehe.
5 a.m. – Charlotte Airport
I could only capture three hours of sleep. I left for the airport early so I could avoid the old man. It worked. I didn’t see him the entire morning. At my gate, I sat next to a Russian lady who asked to borrow my charger. Is she a Russian spy? That would be cool.
7 a.m. – Boarding
I placed the guitar at the end of the gate once more and followed in line to my seat. I could finally write in my journal, “I’m actually going home.” The flight overall was much smoother. I thought: I can only relax when I’m on the way back to Norfolk. We will land, I can get the guitar, and I can finally see my boyfriend.
8 a.m. – Norfolk Airport
While waiting for the first class people to de-board, I watched the baggage people uncaringly throw the guitar on a rotating bridge up.
Soon, I felt the strap of the case in my hands. Some man behind me perked up, “Is that yours? Can you play guitar?” I wished people would stop asking me that question.
“Yes.”
