So far, Montana remained everything she remembered. Everything she had left behind a decade past. A voice came over the speakers to announce something about the time and temperature, some unintelligible codes that included the words ‘connecting flight’, followed supposedly by the proper carousel for luggage. Helen closed her eyes and leaned against her headrest before turning her face away from the milling people impatient to debark. Dark brown hair fell to obscure her oval face and slightly olive complexion, serving as a veil between the woman and the surrounding, nervous conversation. At last, the walkway was connected, and the passengers began to spill out of the plane. With each departing body, Helen relaxed a little more. It wasn’t that she disliked flying, exactly, she was on a plane at least one week of every month, for one reason or another. She just had not wanted to take this particular flight. It was not so much the area itself, but that Helen had once decided to leave for. “Johnny! How are you?”, “It’s been so long!”, “You’re still alive?” they greeted me as I approached. I must confess, being hugged and warmly welcomed did make me feel good.I was a bit taken aback by the sheer quantity of people already waiting. We were well over a dozen adults, plus the two children, all running, chatting, screaming and trying to put order in that chaos. It was overwhelming, and at the same time nostalgic. This was the same noise I had lived with week after week while growing up.Besides my aunts, uncles and cousins, most of them all grown up, there were two small boys running around, my only two nephews. The older one was Leroy’s, and I’ve seen him once or twice. The younger one was a new face.“Elian! don’t run!” called one of my aunts, but the little boy just ignored her and continue playing.After the required greetings to grandma and my dad, I excused myself to the interior of the bus. Apparently, we were still waiting for more family, but I decided to stick to my.
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