Her plane landed and the sound of the tires squeeling against the runway wake her up. She looks from the window, watching gate after gate fly by as Dancing Queen blasts through her iPod, bemused at the thought of being back home. Gathering up her purse, mp3 player, and leatherbound copy of Pride and Prejudice, she waits paitently for the tone that gets over one hundred people, riding on a tin can with wings, to their feet at the exact same time. She smiles, mostly because she has no carry on, but mostly because she is in the first row of first class. The things you can get for free with a smile and bat of her eyelashes. The tone sounds, the crowd surges, but quicker than a shooting star, she breaks free from the crowd and is off the plane and into the terminal, only to be greeted by a sea of humanity.
She bobs and weaves, pirouettes and leaps, ducks and dips, dodging screaming children and inattentive parents with the greatest of ease. Her body moves with infinite grace as she hurries through the terminal, passing hucksters desperately trying to get her to buy second language programs or sunglasses, some even trying to get her number or be seen talking to an attractive woman for bragging rights. The baggage claim helps her escape by being ready when she arrives there, her bright colored baggage shining like a beacon as it moves on the slow belt. Moving with the same shooting star speed, she exits the airport in a flash of brilliant sunlight that would blind lesser people.
She flags down her ride, Yellow Taxi #5, and hits the road with her young driver eyeing her provocatively through the rear view mirror. She looks distantly out the window, watching the waves in the bay, glistening like blades of countless swords in the sun, move slowly towards the shore. Her mind is occupied; her emotions are tumbing over and over each other. Will she be welcome again after being gone for so long? Will her friends be the same? Is she the same? The driver talks to her, trying to move a conversation to a point where he can ask her for something besides the fare, but slowly, like grass growing, he realizes his attempts are useless.
The car passes buildings and parks, old haunts that she used to go to frequently with friends and loved ones. Her mind churns, much like the water she passed earlier, a torrent of emotions making her body tense and feel like she just had an all weekend bender. The car pulls down a street that she has been feeling pull at her soul for miles, and approaches the house that calls to every fiber of her being from every corner of the world. Absently, she hands the cabbie the fare and a generous tip, and walks to the place she knows completely. The place she will always call home.
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