Stranded

The announcement came and everyone

went slack at the same time,

like we'd all been holding our breath

without knowing it.

I went to the bathroom.

Not because I needed to.

Just because it was somewhere to go

where no one could see my face

doing whatever it was doing.

The fluorescent light was too bright.

The kind of light that makes you look

like you've already died a little.

I sat in the stall with my luggage

taking up half the space,

listening to the toilet paper dispenser

spin out more than I needed.

Three hours, they said.

Then four.

Then we should probably book a hotel.

I bought a sandwich I didn't want.

I watched other people on their phones,

calling people who were probably relieved

they didn't have to see us yet.

There's something about being stuck

in a place designed to move you through.

The bathroom. The hallway. The chairs

that bolt you down like a threat.

When they finally said the flight was canceled,

I felt something like relief.

Not because I got to leave.

Because at least now

the waiting had a shape.

I took another bathroom break

before heading to the rental counter.

The light was still too bright.

My face still looked the same.