Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Amy’s Version
Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: Amy’s Version. Matt and I have been in Charlotte for a few weeks but have taken turns going back to Massachusetts on weekends. This weekend was my turn, and when I got up at 4 am on Friday to get to the airport, I saw that my flight was cancelled. Flying to Boston was going to be essentially impossible until Monday. Not helpful! After going through possible parent-less scenarios (could our son Uber to our house from his school, get our car, and criss-cross New England alone to these appointments at colleges?), we decided I would fly into a different airport and figure out the last part when I landed.
So that is how I found myself in Hartford, sharing an Uber with a stranger I met at the American Airlines counter in Charlotte. (So really, my story is Planes and Ride Shares, although I did consider a train from Hartford to Boston.)
I don’t have the space to describe every detail that brought the three of us together: me, a harried mom; Nancy, a minister who needed to get to a hospital in a different New England state for her chaplaincy rotation; Craig the driver who didn’t look close enough at the app to realize that he was accepting a 115-mile trip that required crossing state lines. When we volunteered to cancel, his reply was, “Well hey, what else am I doing this morning?”
We chatted the entire time — initially, as a way to keep us all on our toes for various reasons. As we inched closer to our destination, conversation became deeper and more meaningful. Cancer, a miraculous organ transplant for Craig, the ups and downs of kids figuring out their futures. We all agreed that when put in perspective, this “inconvenience” — us with cancelled flights, him with a bizarre Uber request — was nothing. But maybe it was something.
We got to Logan Airport in Boston. Craig got out of the car to personally give us our bags. Nancy and I hugged. We both wished Craig well. It was a scene out of a perfectly tied together, happy ending novel. Which is maybe why I don’t prefer books like that. These tidy story arcs aren’t typical at all. The real thing — if you’re lucky enough to experience it — is too special to relegate to fiction
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