Gate C-11, Nothing Departing

The board flipped CANCELED at 6:47.

I'd been holding the boarding pass

long enough to soften the fold,

the paper going humid at the crease

the way cheap paper does

when you won't put it down.

I called the desk. I called the other desk.

I sat on the floor near an outlet

and charged my phone to full

so I could call him,

and when I did he said it's okay,

which is not the same as it's okay.

He was standing somewhere with a chip

the size of a poker chip in his hand

for the first time,

and I was sitting on airport carpet

with my back against a pillar

watching a cleaning cart go by.

I don't know what he looked like at the podium.

I don't know if he cried.

He said it's okay. I said I know.

We stayed on the phone

for twenty minutes saying nothing

that made the distance shorter.

The next flight was at noon.

I bought a sandwich I didn't eat.

The boarding pass went soft in my pocket,

just a folded square of paper

with numbers on it

that didn't mean anything anymore.