August 6, 2014

I was not destined to have a smooth transition into the Peace Corps. I woke up at 5am August 6, 2014 after going to bed well past midnight the night before. I was a walking zombie, but I still managed to jump into the shower and get ready in a reasonable amount of time. Sam was slow to get out of bed and then we were both slow to get in the car and then we decided to take the long way to the airport to buy us some more time together. It was a bizarre and saddening drive, knowing this would be the last time I would be surrounded by rich green trees. I refused to let go of Sam, my fiancee as of five days. We sat at the curb of the airport crying, hugging, and drying away tears. I finally build up the courage to enter the airport and approach the ticket counter. “You’re flight is already closed and you have to take a later flight.” Excuse me, what? I was over 40 minutes early to the airport and was being informed that I couldn’t check my bag. I asked if I could carry it on, knowing full well that would mean I have three bags when only two are allowed. With 15 minutes to make it though security and to my gate, I raced up the escalator. I stubbed my toe on the way up and quickly racked my brain to find and dispose of any liquids over three ounces. I threw away face wash and lotion, deciding to buy more in Philadelphia before registration. Of course I was rushing so fast that I forgot about my sun tan lotion and Sam’s body spray that I swiped from home. The slowest possibly security agent working had to search my bag, flipping its’ contents upside down. My time was slowly dwindling and when he forced me to throw away Sam’s body spray, I just about lost it. The emotions were too much and I wasn’t ready to let go of any part of Sam. I needed something as simple as body spray to keep me sane. Annoyed and stressed, I ran to the gate and the plane was gone. I should have known better to just reschedule my flight, but I wasn’t about to be the awkward person strolling into a training late. I no longer had a choice; I had to rebook my flight. I was like a dog with my tail between my legs, collecting my trashed items from security. I was happy to get my belongings back, except when I approached the first trashcan I threw my lotion and face wash into. The once empty trash can was now filled with what looked like nacho cheese. I just want to know who eats nacho cheese at 6:30am or what that orange, slimy liquid was. My eyes were blurry with tears and my thoughts were clouded with stress and I just reached into the trash can without thinking. I probably should have rethought my decision, but it was too late. Luckily I was able to take everything out of the plastic bag, leaving the bottles clean. 

When I got into the car with Sam and looked in the mirror I found huge black streaks of mascara running down my face. Why I wore makeup, I don’t know. I asked Sam if the streaks were there when I got in the car. He was silent and then dodged the question which obviously means yes. I cried all the way home, slept, and was ready to restart, incredibly grateful I checked my stupid bag before I left the airport the first time.

Take two, everything ran smoothly. I tried joking with the incredibly slow security agent, but the airport isn’t a very happy place and no one found my jokes funny. My eyes were swollen and I was far from ready to meet 75 new people; however, there was no turning back. Every step of the way I reminded myself there was no turning back and I took each moment one by one.