Lost Boy Look

Articles

Holly Winter
Living The Life Of Holly

Lost Boy Look
June 10, 2003

“Are you a family?” The flight attendant asked, while doling out customs forms. If we were married, we would only need one form.

“No way.” Darlin-man said. “We just met in the airport.”

“Oh?” The flight attendant squealed. “How nice for you.”

He continued. “Yeah. This flight is going to decide whether we’ll spend time together on the island, or not.”

I laughed at him. “How’m I doing?”

“Don’t know yet.”

The flight attendant gave us a second customs card and moved mechanically down the aisle. She may have been one of those women who joined the airlines to meet men. Others signed up hoping to marry a pilot. Yeah. No. I wanted to work for the airlines so that I could have flight benefits.

But if I had seen Darlin-man in the airport, I would have wanted to scoop him up, no doubt. Oh. Sure. He was cute and sexy and hot all rolled up into one, which is why I found him so alluring on our first date. But. Here at the airport, he had developed this lost boy look that was amazingly charming. I mean. It’s no surprise that I can find my way around an airport faster than he can. But. My sweet boyfriend insisted on carrying his plane ticket and passport around in his hand, for two hours before we were due to board the plane.

“Darlin-man. You can put your ticket away. You won’t need it till later.” I whispered.

“No. I don’t want to lose it.” He insisted.

“Put it in your bag, so you won’t lose it.” I laughed. “That’s what bags are for. To hold things…”

“I don’t want to lose it in my bag. Then I won’t be able to find it quickly.”

“We have two hours till the flight. If you lose your passport, then I will be finding someone else to drink with on the beach.” I warned.

“Aren’t you going to be embarrassed when I am ready to go, and you are fishing around in your bag for your ticket?” He asked.

When he returned to the restroom without his ticket, I congratulated him on putting it away. “About time.”

He ran back into the Men’s room and walked out, suavely, carrying his ticket.

“Sink?” I asked.

“Urinal.” He answered. “On top..”

I gave a knowing, smiling nod.

He had his passport in his hand, ready to pass through immigration, an hour before the plane landed on Grand Cayman Island.

“Honey-boy. There’s going to be a line. You’ll have lots of time to get into your bag when you get there. I promise.”

“I want to carry it. I won’t lose it this way.”

Yes. Very cute. It’s not often you get to see that lost boy look on a grown man.

I know. He earned the right to go through immigration first since he had been ready for hours and hours. But. I stepped in front of him. How could I resist having my first conversation with a Camanian woman?

“So is it true? The weather will be sunny and bright eighty five degrees every day?”

The immigration officer laughed. “They under estimate that temperature to get you to come here. Don’t expect it will dip below ninety.”

“Oh. Great. Beach weather. The hotter the better!”

She opened my passport. “Are you traveling with anyone?”

“Yes. My boyfriend.”

“Tell him to come forward.”

I motioned to Darlin-man. “Come hither…” and turned to the immigration officer. “He says that I don’t look like my passport photo anymore.”

She considered my photo that was taken ten years ago. “Not bad. Not bad.”

“See, honey. She thinks I’m young looking, and she should know.”

Of course he had no idea what I was talking about.

She opened his passport that was all warm and bent from him holding it for hours. “He has certainly grown wiser looking over the years, hasn’t he?”

We laughed.

“Yes. He has. But. He’s still earning that wisdom.” I teased.

“Go ahead. Tease all you want. This hair is frosted.” He insisted.

“Wiser…so politically correct.” I complimented her.

“I LIKE wiser.” Darlin-man interjected.

“Do they suggest kind phrases for you to use? Such as, ‘Sir, you look much wiser now.”

“No. That’s years of experience.” She smiled.

“You know.” Darlin-man said. “Maybe I should leave Holly here for a few days and you could teach her some kind, politically correct phrases.”

“Oh. No.” The officer laughed. “It’s your job to EARN them from her. Now. Go and do your job!”

“Oh. Honey.” I said as we made our way to customs. “You’re right. I do like it here. I like it a lot.”

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About the author: Holly Winter is a teacher and a writer and a flight attendant living in Denver, Colorado, USA. She can be reached at her website or email: Holly@livingthelifeofholly.com

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