~ Goodbye My Darling ~

by

JoEllen Conger

Knees nearly buckling from the unaccustomed heat of the tropics as it boiled over her, Maude MacGinness deisembarked the commercial airliner. Fighting the weight of her carry-on bag and the awkward, rigid, suitcase-sized camera case, she struggled to catch her breath in the humid air. Perspiration instantly dewed her upper lip and trickled down her temples. Her sunglasses slid down her nose. In exasperation she balanced her bag and shoved her glasses up.

The other passengers impatiently pushed and shoved while she paused briefly at the top of the debarkation steps waiting for those who had deplaned ahead of her to continue downward.

Maude forced her eyes to focus on the three-foot-high letters, “St. John’s--Antigua,” which shimmered in the intense sun­light. This was where she and Jim had started their honeymoon venture so long ago. She squinted against the brightness of the tropical sky and pulled her sun visor a little lower over her face.

The sharp corner of a briefcase jabbed into her ample form, throwing her off balance. She staggered against the railing, and glanced about with a caustic glare. The gentleman behind her winked and made a wry face. She took in his tousled shock of red hair, his knobby knees poking out obtrusively beneath his travel-wrinkled walking shorts. His clunky hiking boots and sagging boot socks. The impression was indelibly forbidding.

“Sorry,” he muttered, gracing her with a sheepish grin.

Maude forced a weak smile. “That’s all right,” she assured him.

Jostled from behind by the crush of passengers eager to escape the confines of the plane, he bumped against her again.

“I’m really sorry,” he muttered with embarrassment, levering himself upright.

She took a deep breath to control her irritation. Nothing is going to spoil my mood.

She’d come a long way to pay homage to the man she held dear in her heart.

The heat had everyone on edge, she realized. All she need do was to show a little restraint, and they’d all be through customs and onboard the ship before long.

Maude grimaced a weary smile again. As she shifted to make room for the unkempt man behind her, the corner of her camera case jabbed the woman ahead of her. The woman glowered.

“Oh! Forgive me!” Maude exclaimed, hugging the over-sized case closer to herself. That’s what happens when you stand in judgment of someone else, she thought. God has a way of showing you you’re no better.

The line of passengers finally moved again, and everyone took one more step downward. Finally reaching the tarmac, Maude felt the shimmering heat intensify. It radiated up against her body in waves, making her feel a bit light-headed.

The queue of passengers immediately picked up speed as they raced across the blacktop toward the airport buildings. Perspi­ration trickled down between Maude’s breasts as she huffed to keep pace with the stampeding crowd. Irritably she stanched the errant flow with a quick jab of her fingers.

The redheaded man trotted along beside her. “Why in the world are we running?” he gasped in her direction.

“It’s a universal failing?” she panted. “We sit patiently... for hours in our plane seats... but as soon... as we touch ground... we have the urge to charge off... like desperate lemmings.”

“Ain’t that the truth!” He grinned.

“We’ll just have to wait in line again,” she commented.

“Right again,” he agreed.

Maude maintained her breakneck speed around the terminal building in hopes of outdistancing her boorish companion. The arriving vacationers hurried along a length of cyclone fencing and poured through an open gate toward the building’s side en­trance. They seemed to be racing against time, against the sun, against each other to reach the haven of the chilled interior.

Once inside the air-conditioned terminal, sanity returned. Lines formed in front of the customs booths. Maude deliberately edged away from the over friendly passenger, hoping for a moment to catch her breath. She shifted the heavy video hard-pack from one hand to the other.

Jim had offered many times to replace her old, full-sized video camera with something newer and lighter. But even knowing other professional photographers had updated their equipment, she hadn’t been willing to abandon a tried and true friend.

It takes wonderful pictures, she had argued again and again, forcing Jim to acknowledge that she was a good cinematographer. An old broad for an old broad, she remembered teasing. The thought brightened her eyes, and she smiled. The camera was as dear to her as her children, and her grandchildren--as dear to her as her memories of Jim.

As she waited, a small three-year-old, skipping alongside her mother, distracted her reverie. Immediately Maude’s mind chose favorite scenarios, wishing she could film the moment. She watched the girl’s bobbing kinky, black braids. The soles of her shiny, black patent leather shoes clacking on the tile floor with a resounding slap, and her full, multi-layered skirt flounc­ing with every hop.

How precious. Maude smiled down into the child’s preco­cious, black eyes, which stared up at her.

“Hello.” Maude smiled despite her discomfort from the heat. The child cocked her head, and her plump thumb popped into her bow-shaped mouth. Her eyes sparkled with interest, but she shyly hid behind her mother’s skirt. When she peeked out, Maude wag­gled her fingers in a playful gesture. The child giggled and darted behind her mother again.

Motherhood, babies and cuddling small warm and squiggly bodies filled her mind, and the irritation she had previously felt melted away.

“Next!” called the customs officer.

Maude struggled to pull her passport free from her bag and presented it to the officer. The uniformed woman glanced at the picture of Maude taken years ago when she had been younger and her hair still had been brown. She studied Maude for some time, comparing her to the photograph before she finally decided that they must be one and the same.

“Your first time to Antigua?”

“Actually no, I’ve been here before.”

“Where will you be staying?”

“The vessel Mandalay.”

With a brusque motion, the woman passed Maude’s identifica­tion back to her and waved her on. “Enjoy your stay. Next.”

Maude jammed her passport back into her canvas bag, then made her way slowly past the inspection station. The violent in-swing of the doors nearest the tarmac announced that another planeload of passengers had arrived.

Startled by the commotion, Maude jumped, her heart racing as the next onslaught of vacationers flooded into the building, all chattering at once. They surged forward joining the lines before the customs officers, their voices reverberating in the austere building.

“Goodness sakes,” Maude exclaimed to no one in particular. “Now I suppose everyone will be looking for their luggage all at once.” She shook her head in consternation, scanning the jumble of suitcases on the conveyer belt, trying desperately to spot her own.

The luggage passed in review sporting bright red, yellow, or blue tags. She recognized them as cruise line stickers, like the one she had placed on her own bag. Suitcases came and went, circling lazily. Finally, Maude spotted her own bag approaching on the moving belt.

“Can I help you?” a jovial voice asked.

Turning her attention away from the circling suitcases, Maude was startled to see the redheaded man standing beside her. Before she could answer, he reached passed her and pulled her bag from the circling conveyer belt. Almost at once, a porter appeared at her elbow, pulling the case from his grasp.

“I’ll get that for you, lady,” the man announced. His wide grin portrayed his goodwill. He expertly balanced her suitcase on his cart.

“You got another one, lady?” the West Indies man asked, scanning the conveyer belt for a mate to the suitcase he held.

“No, just the one,” she answered quickly.

The obviously disappointed redhead continued to stand beside her, looking every bit the lost soul.

“Thank you, anyway,” Maude said with a shrug, secretly grateful for the porter’s timely arrival. The Red Cap reached for her camera case.

“I take that too, lady.”

“No, no,” insisted Maude, stubbornly fending him off with an extended hand. “It’s a professional video camera. I’ll keep it.”

“Okay, lady. You keep.”

He shrugged his indifference as he added other suitcases to his already loaded cart. He was no doubt well aware of the camera’s value, and here in Antigua where poverty prevailed, it would take him most of his lifetime to replace such a camera should it be damaged or stolen while in his care.

With a flourish of his arm, he waved the impatient travelers to follow him, then sprinted toward the lobby doors. Taking note that the redheaded man had turned back to the rotating conveyer belt to look for his own luggage, Maude followed the porter at a trot. Others joined her in another senseless race.

Once the porter reached the waiting taxicabs, he quickly dispatched his load onto the sidewalk by their designated color-coding. Then, not waiting for a tip, he bolted back into the building for another load of suitcases.

“Well, now that was fun,” Maude wheezed, spotting her lug­gage among others marked with the same color-coded tags. She gulped for air and slowed her pace knowing she’d have plenty of time to reach the loading area before all the baggage could be stuffed into the awaiting vehicles.

Maude scrutinized the gaiety and bustle as one driver pro­duced a rope to secure the huge stack of teetering luggage he’d balanced atop the roof of his cab.

Grinning, the other drivers yelled good-natured catcalls at their colleague, finally offering to help him by holding every­thing in place while he wound his rope through all the suitcase handles.

Maude clucked a reproach, shaking her head in disbelief. Would he have room for passengers after he’d finished his juggling act? she wondered.

She envisioned the cases slipping and sliding as he drove, breaking free and hurdling wildly about the roadside. Then his passengers--head down, their derrieres rounding above them--plucking their belongings up out of the dirt. She was grateful her suitcase wasn’t among those he’d balanced so precariously.

Her attention was drawn to a young couple who clung together, so full of love for each other they had no notice for their surroundings. Sweet, she thought, their first trip together, most likely, probably their honeymoon.

If she and Jim had stood face to face as closely as that, it was no wonder she hadn’t been aware of all the hurley-burley or the picturesque ambiance about them. But then, that had been--how many years ago? Thirty-five?

Several wide-eyed children danced passed in high spirits, their parents ill equipped to control their wild enthusiasm. Youth. Ah, to have such vigor again she thought enviously. As they say, ‘youth is wasted on the young’.