1.
I notice the pores on his craggy face. His split eyebrows. Crow’s feet and sombre eyes. I see all this but I don’t recognize the Latino man’s face staring back at me from the bathroom mirror.
2.
Getting up abruptly, I begin walking, trying to quell the murmur of panic inside me. People are scattered around the spacious terminal. Some are observing me casually. I’m stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. A man in a bright uniform, either a paramedic or a firefighter, tells me calmly:
Sir, please return to your bench and remain there. We will examine you again as soon as we are able to.
He wouldn’t let me cross the barrier. I see another uniform approaching. Uncomfortable with the odds, I decide against resisting.
Outside the barrier, an Indian lady in a beige sweater is standing with one hand on her chest. She’s following my movement, her mouth partly open.
I return to the bench by a ceiling-to-floor glass wall and sit, lowering my eyelids. My anxious thoughts haven’t subsided. Outside, planes are landing, taxiing, and taking off.
3.
I saw my husband being restrained by the paramedics. Yes, he was able to walk back to his seat unassisted. His gait was familiar. But I noticed that when he looked in my direction, there was something missing in his eyes. He didn’t recognize me. I’m pretty sure he didn’t.
4.
She’s a black girl, around my age. Her Afro and jacket went nicely together. I was so close, I could see the evening light on her bewitching irises. I could almost peer into her soul. But why am I seeing a stranger’s face in the mirror?
photo from Unsplash.com by Serrah Gallos