七月七号 直到永远

July 7th was 37 hours long.  When it began I was in Yichang, China.  I was lying on the grass of the football field at Three Gorges University, trying to comprehend how two years was already over.  My two best friends were beside me, listening to Chinese pop music and making up a love story about the lonely star in the sky.

 

6 hours later I was frantically shoving my belongings into an over-burdened suitcase and holding back tears as my friends silently watched.  Together we greeted the dawn on my last morning in China.  With 45 minutes of sleep to strengthen me through the next 47 hours of travel I was feeling far from prepared.  We loaded into the car and I watched my home slip behind me through the rearview mirror.

 

Each hour imbedded itself in my memory with agonizing slowness.  Some were spent relishing the somewhat Western food in 广州's airport.  Some were spent praying for mercy from the airlines when they weighed my bags, and for strength to leave.  Others were spent in that place that's not sleep but not awareness, where we aren't sure what's real.  I spent a few of them flipping through the three channels on the TV provided by China Southern Airlines, trying to decide if I wanted to watch The Blind Side for the 4th time or the Chinese war movie I'd switched to after hour 7 on that flight.

 

When I landed in America it was 6:50pm on July 7th though more than 31 hours had passed since the day began.  I stumbled off the plane unable to comprehend I was finally in the land of internet freedom and horizontally challenged people.  An immigrations officer gruffly questioned me about the contents of my suitcase and I couldn't remember which language to answer him in.  After trying a sentence in Chinese I realized why he was looking at me like I'd lost my mind.  The next sentence seemed to pacify some of his inner anger and he waved me though the line.

 

I found a book store and subsequently remembered one more reason to be grateful for this transition.  July 7th mecifully ended with a chicken ceasar salad and Three Cups of Tea to comfort me.  I had 30 minutes before my flight to Houston and I was determined to enjoy every bite of food that didn't taste Chinese.

 

Descending from the plane in Houston at 5:40am, I envisioned meeting my parents at the airport in Oklahoma City.  I could picture their smiles and hugs and I felt like one more minute was too long to wait.  I approached the Continental Airlines desk hoping I could sweet talk my way onto an earlier flight.  What I heard seemed to come from far away.  "I'm sorry ma'am, your flight has been canceled due to the weather.  We've got you scheduled for a flight at 9 tonight."  Tears sprung unbidden to my eyes yet again and I angrily shook them away.  I implored the man to try something else.  He found a flight to Dallas/Fort Worth and told me I could try to get on standby for a flight from there to OKC.  I called my parents and they decided they'd rather drive the 3 hours to Dallas than wait for me to fly in late at night.  Thus began my transition back to American life.

 

 

"The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on on's own country as a foreign land."

-G.K. Chesterton