Airport Bingo

A small woman stands next to me, her brown eyes

glued to the large screen above. Great cities are listed

one after another: New York, Amsterdam, Seoul, San

Francisco. As if they’re mere lines apart on our vast

world of sea. And one by one, travelers from these great

cities walk out of the arrival gate, dragging luggage of

various colors and sizes. Black and silver. White and

beige. Ones with four wheels and ones without any. Each

traveler unique, like bingo balls with both alphabetical

and numerical values. The small woman stands on her

toes, doing her best to keep up with the balls rolling

in—an elderly woman at her daily bingo session.

Others around us cry out, and on their lips I imagine

the word “bingo!” Some winners jump up and down,

waving their hands in the air before claiming their prize

and a hug. Half an hour passes by and the small woman

still stands beside me, her eyes more tired than before.

New cities take their places on the screen, while older ones

obtain labels. Delayed. Cancelled. Only a few people are left

playing the game. Another thirty minutes pass by, and the

original players dwindle down to just the small woman and I.

Her short thumb nail is jammed between her teeth and

her legs shake nervously as if an earthquake erupted

beneath our feet. I turn to her and tell her not to worry.

She smiles back, broken from her own thoughts and

politely says, “I know,” before returning to her shaking

legs and uneven nails. Eventually, I win as well;

everyone does when it comes to bingo. I walk up to the front

to claim my prize and a hug, offering to carry a navy suitcase

of medium size (D5). And before I leave the airport I turn

around, the small woman still there on her toes, as a new batch

of travelers flood through. I give her a little wave, but she doesn’t

seem to notice; her deep brown eyes glued to her card above.