I had promised myself I wouldn’t do it unless I could afford it. Then, it began to look like I couldn’t afford NOT to do it. They were almost all going and I couldn’t stand the thought of being on the absentee list.
The trip had been in development since March and while the initial invite had been extended to a good dozen people, the count had dwindled month after month down to seven. I made eight. Provided, that is, that I could either find affordable airfare, invent a teleporter or grow wings. I tried the last two first and was stuck with nothing left to do but look for a flight.
You see, good old Uncle Sam not a month ago had written me a letter telling me that he trusted me so much he was gonna let me help decide a court dispute for him. He called it jury duty, but I’m sure he meant coffee and a bagel. Either way, it was happening the same week as the proposed vacation. I called Uncle Sam up and told him I’d love to give him my advice, but could I do it next week and Uncle Sam said, “Fine.” Uncle Sam don’t say much these days.
Airline tickets were a minimum of 600 bucks and more than a few were over a grand. I was still counting on finding one for 250, but pigs can’t fly yet and Hell’s still hot. I kept looking and a week went by. Still looking when another week went by. Then, it got to the weekend just before the trip and I was still looking. At that point it looked like I stood a better chance building a teleporter, but they were all out of magic at Radio Shack.
Then, the Monday before the trip — bottom of the ninth for this ball game — I spent all day on the phone trying to find a ticket. But don’t tell my boss cause she thinks I was calling vendors that whole time. I was so panicked and downtrodden by the time I got home from work that I finally decided to pay whatever it took to get there. Through the course of the day, I’d allowed myself from 250 to about 300. I said I’d do it for that. Then, a few friends began to volunteer to help me out and a pool was reached that got me able to go up to about 400.
Well, at 7:30 monday evening, good old Delta came through and provided me with a 415 dollar ticket (after taxes) complete with a perfect schedule — fly out Thursday overnight and fly back home Sunday evening in time to report for jury duty Monday morning. My friends would be happy, Uncle Sam would be happy, and I’d be happy. It worked out beautifully. Sure, the money was gonna be super-outrageously-tight for the next couple of months, but banks are easier to break into these days if worse came to worse.
I worry a lot. Unintentionally, of course, but I do. How’s this gonna work out? Where’s the money gonna come from? Does she like me? Am I gonna get stupid someday? etc. You know the questions. Now, worry never did anything for me, but hope has done everything for me and its just as much a part of reality that sometimes things all work out. Sometimes ships come in and sometimes we actually make it to the other side.
So everything was in line. I would get to see my old college friends; I could finally visit Florida (a state I’d never seen); I could catch up with my college professor (read my profile to find out how much THAT meant to me); and not the least of all, I could relax for a fun-filled weekend of games and conversation, leaving all the stresses of recent months behind me. So, with a big smile on my face, I poured myself a glass of wine and enjoyed providence.
I just wish I’d checked the weather, though. Perhaps if I’d thought to check some extended weekend forecast I would have heard about the storms that were heading inward from the center of the Atlantic. Storms that would be mirrored in the lives of my friends throughout the weekend; storms that would severely transform my trip home; and storms that would wind up teaching me a few tough lessons about life and myself. I would be more than I was ready for.
But at that moment, only one thought careened through my mind: Sometimes everything works out just right.
