Monsieur Depardieu Waits (at the airport part II)

Claude read his watch.

11:30

He sat on the faux leather airport bench, arms crossed over his chest, pleated khaki legs crossed, right over left. The seat was awkward and uncomfortable. The French government had just invested millions of Euros into revamping international airports, yet the benches were as uncomfortable as they'd ever been.

A folded copy of the New York Times International Edition sat on the next seat, revealing a half completed crossword puzzle. An investment of twenty minutes had ended in frustration and only proved to slow time down, so he'd abandoned the paper to watch people.

An Italian boy chased his young sister in circles around the waiting area, only a few feet from where Claude sat. Stone faced, he watched them for at least five minutes as they laughed hysterically, screaming at each other, sounding very Italian.

girl "a lamaro rabazza cincuanta polerro!"

boy "pocatta alhambra!"

girl "no!"

laughing

mother "a lamaro cincuanta polerro alafa tazzo amaderro la pozone amacani cucatto solo rabazza faletinato la podero!"

girl crying

boy whining

He admitted to himself that they were kind of cute, laughing and screaming, uninterpretable to him like that. The stone face broke into a slight smile; then he shifted his gaze to the high arch-ceiling main hall of the airport wing, where hundreds of people could be seen scuffling, dawdling, rushing, lazing, charging.

The aggressive heel-clicks of a leggy brunette professional-looking woman took audial prevalence over the ambient passing of people for a moment. He studied the navy blue pantyhose for several seconds, memorizing the important details. Without moving her head in the slightest, she shot a brief but powerful stare of reproach in his direction. He faked a sneeze and looked down into his jacket pockets, searching for an imaginary tissue.

He waited til the heel clicks had faded. Then he sighed lightly, checking his watch again.

11:41

The television screen listing the upcoming landings for the wing still read:

Lufthansa 287 ___ JFK ___ 11:00 p.m. ___ On Time

No, you're not on time, he mumbled, grumpy and growing impatient.

He looked out the window and shot out of his seat when he saw a jumbo jet finally pulling up to the gate.

His heart jumped and face turned very warm; inhaled sharply, deeply, and held it for several seconds before slowly letting it escape through pursed lips. He walked over to a water fountain and drank from it zealously as he'd become very thirsty during the last hour of his sitting. A cupped-handful of water splashed on his face helped to wipe some of the droopiness from his tired eyes.

Walking back toward the terminal window, he hoped to steal a glimpse of Rachel on the plane, but all the plastic shutters on the plane windows were down.