by W.H. Harrod
~~ Chapter Thirty-Four
Somehow this seems fitting, Allison thought to herself as she dabbed the occasional tears from her eyes. Hundreds of harried travelers scrambled to and fro in front of where she sat, but she still felt very much alone. She hardly realized their presence as her thoughts kept going back over the amazing events of the past week.
After Bobby’s plane departed for Dallas, she sought out the privacy of a women’s lavatory so she could shed her tears in private. She emerged more in control and knowing her tears were only an expression of the tremendous relief generated by the previous week’s life changing, affirming experiences. She wasn’t unhappy -- to the contrary, she practically overflowed with confidence and purpose regarding her future. She did not harbor any delusions about being able to save the world. She merely better understood her place in it and what she needed to do personally to become a model for change. Further strengthening her resolve was the concurrent commitment of her three best friends to work with her every step of the way.
Having finally dumped thirty-four years of debilitating emotional baggage into the hands of the person most deserving of it, also gave her reason for quiet celebration. Her earlier boast about her intention of wiping the recollection of a certain name from her memory had not been made lightly. All in due time, she told herself. A lifetime’s work awaited her.
Another hour and fifteen minutes remained until her flight took off. With her thoughts organized and only an occasional tear still falling upon her cheeks, she turned her attention to her surroundings. She became aware of the multitude of travelers moving about her. Young people, old people, finely attired people, families with kids, and people in foreign dress came and went along the concourse.
Across from where she sat, passengers disembarked from one of the long tunnel-like ramps that extended from the waiting area to the door of each aircraft. The new arrivals emerging from the tunnel fit right in with the hordes of travelers already inside the terminal comprising a nondescript sea of humans ebbing and flowing with each arrival and departure. No one of particular interest came out of the ramp doorway until the plane was almost empty. A group of individuals displaying all the signs of protestors looking to shore up the ranks of the demonstrators now in the streets of downtown San Francisco formed into a group while planning their next move. Sporting hats, sweatshirts, and small banners attesting to their opposition to the war, the group milled about for a time and then headed off under the direction of a guide arriving in time to gather the herd and lead them presumably towards transportation that would take them to the field of battle.
Allison’s spirits rose as she witnessed this influx of new blood. There was reason for hope. People would come from all over when they realized the insanity of this war. She reflected on her own experience back in ‘69 as a young woman with no real understanding of the world, arriving alone in a big and sometimes hostile city. A hundred times her fear almost made her turn around and go back home. Where did I ever find the courage? she wondered as she recalled the experience thirty-five years later. How different my life would have been if I had not stayed.
Coinciding with Allison’s reflections on her own arrival in the bay area, she caught sight of a lone straggler exiting from the ramp doorway. She recognized the uncanny resemblance between an apprehensive, young, blond haired woman standing alone in the waiting area across the way and her own vivid memories of an equally young and frightened Allison emerging from her VW bus on to the streets of Haight-Ashbury following her long trip to the coast.
The object of Allison’s attention was in no hurry to go anywhere and neither did she look around in expectation of another person meeting her. Allison knew in her gut this frightened person was alone and far from home. After the young lady placed one of the two bags she carried on a seat in front of her, Allison watched intently as the girl searched for and found another handkerchief. After re-zipping the bag, she promptly wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Ready to move along, the young lady picked up her bags and walked towards the constant flow of traffic moving both ways on the concourse. Looking first in one direction and then the other and obviously not knowing which way to go, she sat down in the closest row of chairs, placed her bags in the seat beside her, and started to cry.
Allison observed the scene before her until she instinctively made her move. Something inside told her the young woman was at a critical point in a journey and within the next few minutes would make a decision that would dramatically affect the rest of her life. Carrying her bags with her, she approached the despondent traveler and deposited them onto one of the empty seats as she sat herself down two seats away from the crying young woman.
“Don’t tell me,” said Allison as the startled listener looked up, “you’re having second thoughts, and you’re starting to ask why you let things get this far? Somewhere back east is a wonderful young man who loves you and can’t understand why you had to leave home and travel far away to a place where you will be all alone? Am I right?”
The young girl’s eyes got as wide as silver dollars. “How did you know that?” she answered, disbelief underscoring her words.
“Hi, my name’s Allison, and would you believe a lifetime ago I found myself in the same situation, right here in the San Francisco Bay area?”
Allison employed one of the most successful tools ever discovered for getting another human to put down their defenses, at least partway, and enter into dialog with another human being -- identification. People are inclined to respond to those who speak to the heart of another’s pain from their own experiences. Allison knew how this person felt like few other people in the world could because she had been there, not because she had read about it in a book. Now it was time to let the other person make a move.
The girl reached forward and took Allison’s hand seemingly without thinking. “I’m Annie. You left home, too, so you could go out and find some answers to questions you couldn’t even ask back home?”
Allison smiled knowingly while giving Annie’s hand a final shake before releasing it. “I estimate I came that close to turning back at least a hundred times.” Allison held up her thumb and forefinger separated by less than a quarter of an inch distance.
“You did! What did you do to keep from turning back? Things must have turned out all right for you. You remind me of my grandmother, and you’re so pretty. Please tell me, I’m so scared and lonely; I want to get back on the next plane.”
Allison looked at her watch and then back at Annie. “I have some time until my flight, and there’s a coffee shop over there.” Allison rose from her seat with her bags and offered a hand to the young woman who accepted it.
“Would you like to hear a story?” asked Allison as they walked along together.
“What’s it about?” asked Annie.
Allison thought for a second. “It’s about overcoming fear. It’s about meeting new friends who will live in your heart always. It’s about adventures and discovering a purposeful life on the side roads, and… most importantly, it’s about dandelions.”
~~~
This book is dedicated to the individuals who bring me the most joy: my wife Debra, my son Travis, his wife LeAnn, and their beautiful daughters Maelle and Miriam
All Things Return
Streams of Yesterday
W.H. Harrod was born and raised in Kentucky. He served in the Army in Vietnam in 1969/70 and received a BBA degree from Washburn University on the GI Bill. He currently resides in Oregon with his wife, Debra, and their two cats.
Contact with me online: [email protected]
