Carter, Where Are You?!

In the buzz and crush of humanity, ebbing and flowing about me I heard a high pitched and urgent voice cry out, “Carter, where are you?”.  I assumed this wayward child would soon be captured and harnessed to his mother for the duration.

As the hours drifted by I decided to press into the crowd to avoid total loss of my limbs.  I hear that astronauts can’t move after floating in space for months. As I drift with the crowd we occasionally divert to the left or right to avoid a temporary roadblock. Sometimes the detour is due to a hapless Traveller looking hopefully at a screen above.  Sometimes it was someone stopped for no apparent reason.  They just stared, unsure of where to go, knowing it didn’t matter.

I walk by McDonalds as I hear, “Carter, where are you?!” once again.  My that boy gets around.  Get him something to eat, mother.

Hours later at another gate, people are standing, hopeful, as the agent announced that they are looking for a crew.  Day 2 and still no crew?  Did they fly to Canada seeking asylum?  Then, music to my ears, “Carter, where are you?!”.  Carter is alive and well.  I feel at peace.  All will be well.

Day 3 and there may be a ray of hope.  A couple of planes have arrived.  As I watched these souls exit the plane I resist the impulse to shout, “Go back! Run (or fly) from this place!”.  I want that plane.  If they are looking for connecting flights, tough luck.

As I make my 14th bathroom run an I grab the last candy bar from the gift shop I contemplate selling it.  But money will soon be worthless as bodies drop.  Back to my new gate, or did I start here on day one?  No matter.

I have struck up numerous friendships with fellow survivors.  We have shared horror stories about past flights, holiday visits, animal husbandry, emotionally disturbed pets and what will be our first thing to do when we are finally freed. One appeared to be hallucinating.  He saw a pilot walk by.  Poor soul.

At the point of greatest despair I hear, “Carter, where are you?!”.  Heartened I pressed into the crowd to finally meet Carter.  There he was, neat, preppy looking, fresh as a daisy.  He carried a pen, notebook and can of soda.  I suspect he was writing a novel about this event or perhaps he was taking notes for a class action suit.  I said hi and I asked him if he thought he could fly the plane since they seemed unable to find a pilot. He said, “Sure!”.  And off he went, no doubt to inquire about the opening.

It was a brief encounter but at my next low point I will surely listen for those heartening words, “Carter, where are you?!”.  Carter will survive, follow him.

Lee