New Year's Eve

I had planned the perfect New Year’s Eve.  Alex would meet my flight at 6:30 p.m. in San Diego and we’d pick up Thai food on the way to Escondido, where we were housesitting.  Alex would lay wood in the fireplace and I’d set the “good” china on the glass coffee table.  We’d sit on pillows and the fireplace and  candles  would illuminate our dinner. The dog wouldn’t beg for food and the cat wouldn’t jump onto the coffee table and knock over my wine glass. And at midnight, we’d kiss in the New Year. Instead, at 11:55 p.m., I stood among strangers at the Hertz Rent-a-Car parking lot in Los Angeles, praying for a rental car.  

Things had begun to go wrong early that morning. My niece had said, “Auntie Judy, be careful; the front steps are icy and the driveway looks like a frozen lake”.  I’d spent an emotional week with my family.  My sister, Mary, had recently been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and I had flown back east to help out. Driving to Boston’s Logan airport on icy roads merely added to my stress. We arrived with barely enough time for quick hugs and promises to keep in touch.

The flight departed on schedule and for some reason the pilot seems overjoyed at the prospect of spending the last day of the year flying us from coast to coast.  He said, “Folks, I anticipate landing in San Diego by 6:25 p.m. – a few minutes ahead of schedule.”  I felt exhausted and his cheerfulness irritated me.   I dozed.  I dreamed that my sister wouldn’t recognize me the next time I visited.  I awoke and forced myself to visualize a happy scene – Alex and me toasting the New Year.

At 6 p.m. the pilot announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, San Diego is blanketed in fog but we’ll circle for a while; let’s hope conditions improve.” He didn’t seem upbeat anymore.  I heard a collective groan.  Passengers pulled out cell phones.  Although I had my phone, I had no way of reaching Alex because we’re a one-cell-phone family.  I imagined him pacing at the airport.

Conditions didn’t improve.  We headed to Los Angeles and flew in circles, waiting to land.  The pilot hinted that the airline might make arrangements to bus us to San Diego.  I felt relief.  But all around me passengers muttered, “They never supply ground transportation.”  Text messages flew into cyberspace.  But I had no one to call.  I willed Alex to call me, but my cell phone sat mute in my purse.

We landed. There were no busses.  Some passengers deplaned.  I pictured myself renting a car and then getting lost in East L.A.  Alone.  With no way to contact Alex.  I sat paralyzed in the plane. Two women sat next to me.  For hours I’d overheard them chat.  At first their honey-sweet voices had been pleasant but with each passing hour the lilting sound began to grate on my nerves.  I had hoped that they would deplane in LA but they didn’t.  Their conversation affected me as if they were inconsiderate toddlers kicking the back of my seat.  I changed seats.

Later, the pilot said that the fog was lifting in San Diego.  But by the time we got clearance, took off, and flew back, San Diego was fogged in again so we turned around and, at 11 p.m., we landed at LAX for the second time.  

Customer service agents announced that the flight was cancelled, they had no bus transportation to San Diego, no hotel rooms and the flights the next day were completely booked. “We are very, very sorry.  Happy New Year.”

I followed the crowd.  A woman asked me where I lived and after I answered she said, “Those ladies live close to Escondido.”  She pointed – toward my two seat-mates!  Desperation humbled me.  I took a deep breath, approached them and asked, “Excuse me; I heard that you’re heading toward Escondido.  Are you going to rent a car?”  I heard the sugary voice say, “You’re welcome to drive with us.”  My eyes smarted with gratitude. 

I looked after Diane’s 86-year-old mother and their luggage while she called several rental car companies.  Most didn’t have cars available but she was persistent and at midnight she was signing a rental agreement. And as I stood with her mother in the Hertz parking lot, fireworks lit the sky.

 I reached into my purse, took out my cell phone and a moment later it vibrated.  I had somehow set it on vibrate mode so, although Alex had called me, I hadn’t felt the vibration through my purse!  I assured my panicky husband that I would be home in a few hours. 

I had planned a romantic Thai dinner; instead Diane, her mother and I hungrily wolfed down “In and Out Burgers” while driving south. And miraculously their conversation no long annoyed me.  In fact, as we got closer to Escondido, my shoulders relaxed.  Diane’s mother said, “Will we be late for church tomorrow?”  Diane replied, “Mom, I think God will forgive us if we miss Mass just this once.”  I thought, “Amen.”

At 2:45 a.m. my Good Samaritans dropped me at our front door. I opened my wallet and they shook their heads.  “We didn’t go out of our way and we enjoyed your company.”   I hugged them “goodbye”.  Then Alex hugged me “hello”. 

Fifteen minutes later, at 3 a.m. Alex and I sat on the couch in front of a cold fireplace sipping sherry wine from thick juice glasses. The dog rested his head on my lap and the cat sprawled on the back of the couch.  Together we snuggled into 2012.  This wasn’t the New Year’s Eve I’d planned but I’m sure it will be one of our most memorable.