Cameron and Dulles airport

If I heard her last name I have forgotten it, for which I am sorry. I can’t forget her first name, though, because she is, in essence, one of mine already. Cameron. Serene, gorgeous, intelligent, graceful Cameron. She appeared to be about twenty and on her way to meet her boyfriend, Jake, in Newburyport, Massachusetts, not far from where I live.

We were twenty in all, bound together by a storm that kept us on the ground in Roanoke, VA, for more than three hours. Flashes of lightening circled the field in waves as would-be travelers stood at the windows, both in awe and dismay at being held captive by Mother Nature.

Finally, an announcement over the PA system signaled a break in the weather before the next storm, and our United Airlines representative told us we were going to do a “quick turnaround once our plane was able to land”. We watched as the small jet made its way through the dark sky and intermittent lightening, and felt a sigh of relief when it taxied up to our window. Passengers ran between raindrops, covering their heads with bags and newspapers as best they could, and puddle-jumped into the terminal.

“Let’s rock” was the only direction we got, and the twenty of us who remained in the terminal gathered what little we had and crossed paths with those going in the opposite direction, not unlike opposing teams after a hard-fought game, only without the high-fives or handshakes.

“Good luck” a couple of weary travelers were heard to offer. “It’s nasty up there.”

No sooner were we on the plane and settled in when the flight attendant told us to pay special attention the safety instructions for this flight…and we all did. As quickly as we were buckled in, the pilot taxied out and did the fastest take-off I’ve ever seen. It felt as though we were going five hundred miles an hour before we left the ground and our ascent was seemingly straight up, unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I always gauge the take-off by prayer and where I am in the Hail Mary (after I finish the Our Father). I have it timed so that when I get to the word Jesus the plane softly lifts and begins it gradual ascent. Every time! Not this flight. I wasn’t half way through the Our Father when we were off the ground and screeching away from the Roanoke airport. I was somewhere in the “forgive us our trespasses” range, which was way too soon and made me very uncomfortable

“They must know what they’re doing”, I thought as we struggled through the clouds and awkwardly bumped our way into the stratosphere in this little plane, and then I thought to myself “How strange that I longed to go home for my scheduled biopsy instead of die in a plane crash”.

I closed my eyes and waited silently with the others until we were comfortably clear of the storm and then settled in, hoping we’d make our connecting flight at Dulles on the other end.

We missed it by five minutes, and there were no flights out until morning.

That’s when I saw her. She looked worried and alone and vulnerable, and she was asking the attendant what she should do now that she had no way home.

“Boston?” she asked when she finally turned around and looked at me, and I nodded yes. There were only three of us for whom the flight was a connection. The rest of them were already home, somewhere in the DC area, and beds and families to warm and comfort them. Somehow, we lost sight of the third, who preferred privacy and seclusion, perhaps not trusting strangers in an altogether strange place.

“My Mother is going to be so worried” Cameron said in a “boy, am I in trouble now” kind of tone. She shared that her Mother had told her it was a bad idea to try to go to Newburyport alone to meet Jake, but you know how college kids are…invincible.

As we walked toward the reservation desk to attempt to find our way back to Boston for the morning, I told her to call her Mom and let her know that she was fine, and that we’d be fast friends for the night. My grandson’s name is Cameron, so she and her Mom should know that I’d take care of her as my own. “I’ll talk to her if you’d like”, I told her, but Mom seemed pretty happy that she’d connected with somebody “reputable”.

She was a Junior at the University of Miami, a Marine Biology major who had never swum with dolphins. Her parents were both doctors, and we sat and talked and shared until she really was one of my own. We played games and asked great questions of each other like favorite color? And Holtz or Chopin? That one got her because they were so different, and she was surprised I would know that, too.

She was a cellist, and she told me about the time United lost her cello for four days! Since then she bought it a seat next to her. This time she didn’t bring it because she was going to see Jake.

We played the psychological game of favorite animal and two adjectives that describe it, and favorite color and two adjectives that describe it to see it how we see ourselves is congruent with how others see us, and her answers were dolphin, graceful and intelligent, and blue, serene and gorgeous. She had it all together.

She was competitive, got good grades, respected her parents, and had the most amazing smile. We got snacks and blankets, and settled in head to head on the benches at Dulles airport, and I felt I had nestled in her into my fold the best I could for the brief hours til morning.

As we got on our plane the following morning, separated now, I could see her some seven rows ahead of me. She looked ready to go off on her own. She turned around, smiled, and waved confidently, giving me a high five sign. I smiled back and returned the gesture, nodding that everything truly was fine. She had only been mine for a few hours to watch over, and I’m so glad our paths crossed as they had.
Guardian angels have a way of being there just when we need them the most. I’m glad she was there to watch over me and keep my mind off the biopsy scheduled for the next day. 7/11/07