It’s too late now, she’s gone.
Gone like an overwhelming whirlwind of graceful etiquette and disorganized chaos.
At the aeroport, I thought it would be interesting to watch (from a safe distance across the concourse), as Nostalgia joined the weaving, serpentine cue that plodded slowing to the security screening area.
MiLady questioned my reasoning. “Why?”
“She might need bail money, again,” I replied quietly as I watched the disguised Olde Banshee chat it up with the many other travellers around her.
When it was finally her turn to approach the conveyer, a young security officer handed Nostalgia a grey bin.
With a big, warming smile, Gia aptly stuffed her purse, sweater and watch into it, without losing the attention of her fellow travellers still enraptured by her colourful commentary.
When it was time for her bin and carry-on bag to proceed through the x-ray machine, my Dear Olde Fossil some how managed to find a final way to embarass me — in a way so innocent that I did not even think of it.
She spun around, looked out over the concourse, spotted us (unfortunately), and then began to jump up and down with one arm waving over her head, as she screeched her typical air-raid-siren wail:
Alarmed passengers looked for the source of the disturbing commotion, and upon finding the bouncing, black apparation that was Gia, quickly gave her a wide berth in the direction that she was waving — MY direction!
Now, as the concourse was clearing a path wide enough to host a World Cup soccer match, two elderly women were hobbling across the way to the luggage carousels, when one of them noticed the commotion and went wide-eyed.
“Ethel!” the taller woman pointed out to her cane-weilding friend. “Look!”
Ethel looked up at her companion and then squinted towards the security area. “Eh?”
“Over there!” the tall one continued. “It’s Cher, and she’s waving! Quick, let’s wave back!”
Ethel looked again and shook her head, before pulling down her friend’s arm. “That’s not, Cher, Esther,” she said, “She’s that freaky, horror movie hottie, Elvira, that your grandsons kept telling us about!”
“Ohhh,” Esther replied, “Maybe I should take her picture instead, then?”
As Esther fumbled with the camera app on her stupid phone, Ethel said, “Ohh, just hurry up and wave, Esther, she’s leaving!”
MiLady bit her lip while I rolled my eyes, both of us in awe of what we were seeing and hearing.
“Will. You. Wave. Back. To. Her. Already!” my favourite girl said through gritted teeth. “She’s causing a scene.”
I looked over my shoulder and quickly found her: over 40yards away … still jumping … still waving … and still wailing.
And over 200 strangers were pointing at her … taking her picture … and waving back!
It was unbelievable, and I quickly found myself with one arm stretched over my head returning the wave.
And it was at that moment when the jumping stopped, and the waving … and yes, finally, the wailing. Then, without missing a beat, Nostalgia spun back on her heels, followed the young officer’s directions and disappeared from our sight towards the boarding gates.
“She isn’t causing a scene, Dear’st,” I said as we started our walk back to the van. “She’s being Nostalgia.”