to shed the dreariness of ongoing winter in the Northeast. Just a whiff of the salty, vegetation-laden, warm air seemed to wipe away our heaviness.
It was a small airport back then and there were maybe five planes landed. A hospitality crew in crispy clothes met us at the bottom of the moveable stairs. Smiles and questions about our travel, a lilt in the voices of real Bermudians, always projecting a regality, or, I can make you laugh.
The hospitality crew listened to minor complaints and big plans and all the hopes and fears tourists haul to front desks and
"WHERE'S THE RUM???" A woman let a heavy shopping bag drop down from an arm also weighted with three handbags. "Is she already drunk?" A muscled man in thigh covering shorts didn't quietly ask a flight attendant. A child tugged on a ladies arm. She bent slightly towards the child, a gold earring twinkle-sounding against others in her ear. "She's faking," the child whispered. "Pretending," another child said. "Ever the actress," a man said. "Like Lucy."
"What is her point?" A flight attendant ready to rest from world travels had joined the group with a smart carry-on. "She'll let us know."
Some people came from the terminal in a spread out little cluster. They casually surrounded the plane. "Let's all go to bag checking," the earring'd lady in the print-dress took a child's hand. The man took the woman's bags. "It's in there," she let go of the shopping bag but then took it back. She handed it to the man in the shorts, saying, "The Air Marshall put it in there." Yet another child said, "Mom! You have lipstick on your teeth!" She let go of the bag, pulled a tissue from a sleeve, and said, "Thank you for telling me."
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