I wished desperately I had my camera. I always feel that way when I’m waiting in airports, and yet I never seem to remember it before I leave the house. So there I sat with an hour and thirty five minutes to kill and a full pack of cigarettes for assistance.

Up until this point I had occupied myself primarily with children and members of the senior citizen clan -- not necessarily together although, some-times. It’s just that these types seem to be the most fun to observe: toddlers attempting to get out of the grasp of new mothers, only until they can’t distinguish one set of ankles from another and begin to scream; little old ladies rummaging their bags for tickets, presents for grandchildren, and to make sure "they have everything".

"Flight 437 from San Diego has arrived and passengers will be deplaning shortly from gate K3." Why on earth anyone would come to Detroit from San Diego in January, by choice, is beyond me, yet the plane was packed. I lit another cigarette and watched . . . they looked tan, but tired. It was discouraging for me to think of this population, with their swimming pools and constant availability of good Mexican food and then, as if I’d had the wind knocked out of me, I saw her.

I had finally witnessed the long overused phrase, "poetry in motion". It also occurred to me that I suddenly understood the concept of casual elegance. In a pair of faded levis and a white cotton blouse, cowboy boots and a matching leather jacket, this woman, simply put, radiated confidence and style. She had hair the color of chestnuts and eyes so green I could see them from across the room. Her makeup was simple, understated, with just pink enough lipstick to assure you she didn’t need blush.

I wondered who was going to be the lucky recipient of this creature - whose house was going to come alive and for how long? I was jealous for a minute, of both of them. And then I saw her smile start to fade and her eyes stop dancing. It was as if someone flipped a switch, she just went dark. And hard as I tried I could not take my eyes off her.

She headed slowly toward an older man with silver hair, I suspected he was her father. As her eyes met his, her steps slowed and her shoulders began to slump. Her reserve was crumbling before me. He stood patiently, with both hands in the pockets of his blue pinstriped trousers. His expression was cold and gave away nothing.

As I continued to watch them I was plagued with a feeling of intrusion, as if I was reading someone's diary. I studied them, this beautiful woman and this distinguished man, standing face to face with no words or smiles to offer one another. They just stood there, searching each other’s eyes silently for something only they would recognize. With the slightest nod of his head, he turned as if to leave her. When he turned back to reach for her, she was headed for the window.

As she stood watching the gray drizzle over the runway, all I could see was her profile and the tears sliding delicately down her cheeks. Someone had died. Someone she loved and had come for. I don’t know how I knew, I just did. There was this ache in my stomach and I wanted to run to her, put her back on that plane and never let her get off. I wanted to turn back time and keep her from living the scene I just witnessed. I wanted to stop her pain and bring back her smile but I just sat, frozen in my chair.

I heard someone mumble the boarding of my flight as I watched him take her elbow and guide her shattered spirit through the crowd. 

All the way home I tried, with no luck, not to think about her. I had watched a human being disintegrate before my eyes. I had seen a heart stop doing it’s function, and begin it’s purpose. I wondered who she had lost and who would comfort her, surely not that man who had come for her. I wondered when the funeral would be and could picture her clearly in a simple black dress with her grandmother’s pearls.

As I dried my eyes I tried to understand why I was crying -- I didn’t even know her. But yet I did, and I was grateful I had left my camera at home.