Terminalul sosiri
Cât de simplă și de eficientă poate fi uneori scriitura de revistă. Integral, mai jos, un textuleț de Chris Jones din Esquire-ul american de iulie:
Arrivals at the Airport: An Idea for Our Time
I was on a bit of a bad run a little while ago, mostly because I’d grown to hate people and airports, people in airports most of all. That was until I was in Toronto, probably my least favorite airport after Newark, standing in the security line, in my stupid socks, my belt lost somewhere in the machine. There was a girl behind me. She had made some joke when we were undressing “” I can’t remember it, exactly, but it was more conversation than I’d been looking for, and I’d just smiled, fakely, and gone back to being mad at the world. It was only after we were through to the other side and gathering our things that I glanced back at her and realized she was crying, not just a little bit. She was a girl in tears in the middle of this awful, antiseptic place. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because I didn’t laugh at her joke. I’m pretty sure it was because she had just kissed goodbye someone she loved, maybe for the last time. Normally I would have just picked my keys and coins out of the tray, but that morning I reached out behind me and put a hand on her arm before I walked away.
It was the shortest of connections, but it was enough. I waited for my flight that morning and never once wished gone the time. I sat there and remembered those years when I had been an optimist, honest and true, and when I’d been hopeful, and when I’d loved people I didn’t even know existed. And I remembered when airports for me were gateways, opportunities, the places from which the best days of my life were launched. There was a time when I loved airports the way other people love churches, coming together under glass and high ceilings so that they might be released. I remembered especially waiting for my wife at the airport in Paris early one morning, back when she was my new girlfriend, the sun only just coming up in our lives together, and I remembered how excited I was when she appeared through the orange glow behind the sliding doors with her bags on a trolley. That’s when I knew everything I needed to know, and I’d forgotten all about it in my rage and my rush.
Now, whenever I can, I go early for my flights and confuse my taxi drivers by asking them to drop me off at Arrivals. I pick up a drink and a magazine for the lulls, put on my headphones “” Explosions in the Sky works well “” and I watch people begin again. I watch them come off their long flights and I see their tired faces light up, their hearts explode, their knees buckle, their eyes close. Sometimes I want to ask them what they mean to each other, but most of the time it’s not hard to tell. I’m not ashamed to admit I wobbled when I saw a boy and a girl hug each other in Los Angeles, and when two daughters ran to their father and each grabbed a leg in Orlando, and when a son with a giant backpack and a summerlong beard fell into the arms of his tearful mother in Boston. Every time I see emotions so familiar in the faces of strangers, I’m rescued from today, from all of our modern sins and plagues, again and again and again, brought back to those moments in my own life when I knew in my chest that everything would be okay, like the moment just before I hugged my wife in Paris, and the moment just after I let go of that girl in Toronto.
Comments
One Response to “Terminalul sosiri”
Leave a Reply
Interesant, intr-adevar.
Mie mi-a placut mai mult articolul despre Bar Refaeli: “In this light, natural light, waiting to begin her work, Bar Refaeli is impossibly lovely.”
Poate sunt de vina pozele…