Creative Non-Fiction Short Stories. :) Travel, Oldsters, Love, and Compassion.
The crowd of people at the gate wore looks suited for various executions. They wore sneers of people leaving vacation behind. Even the crowd of pilgrims who climbed through Medjugorje seemed to have forgotten the appearance of peace, as they tugged at their lanyards and paced the seating area. One woman reading a book seemed sunburned but calm, which caused an angry family on her right to clear their throats and sigh at her impolite contentment.
A giant Nordic man wrestled with an unlit cigarette, and a scrutinizing Italian man in a pink polo shirt scowled at a woman removing inedible meat from her overpriced flight-cafe sandwich. The weather in Dubrovnik had been flawless.
The airport intercom cracked over their displeasure, “Mr. Lasagna. Please come to the information counter. Mr. Lasagna.” There was a clear beat, like in a stage play, before the whole group exploded. The laughs replaced the glares. The pilgrims traded twitters. Even the grumpy family by the bookworm turned to share their pleased expressions in her direction.
If Mr. Lasagna was in the boarding area, he certainly didn’t jump to his feet. Perhaps he had already departed, or decided the message would have to wait until the group stopped trying to find him, trying to locate the namesake of layered-pasta, trying to avoid going home.
-(Summer) Dubrovnik airport, Croatia.