The Passport

I dreamed I was waiting around an airport with my mom, getting ready to board a plane to Hawaii. I was a bit anxious about the flying part and not at all looking forward to it. When it got close to the time to step up to the window for the screening process, I realized that I didn't know where my passport was. It occurred to me that I'd never actually even seen it, my mom having been its primary custodian through the years.

We got out of line and sat down on some uncomfortable molded plastic chairs to regroup. My mom was quite disappointed, since she had paid for the tickets already. Gracie would be disappointed too, as I was supposed to be meeting her in Hawaii. I was nothing but relieved, since flying and I don't agree. 

The airport had a designated team of passport specialists on staff who were capable of generating me a new passport, but it was doubtful whether or not they could pull off the whole procedure before the plane was scheduled to take off. I was banking on their inability to get the job done, but I had the uneasy feeling that they just might, and I would have to board that damned plane after all.

I'd gotten as far as having my picture taken and was waiting for one of the team members to come and sign off on some documents. The whole thing became moot, however, when one last check of my bags  revealed the original passport in my carry on bag, tucked neatly in a side pocket. 

Anxiety turned to dread as the countdown to my certain demise resumed. I felt every bit of the fear that a condemned man feels when the clock reaches the final hour on execution day. The fear you feel when you're sitting in a dentist office, aware of the exact number of patients before you, and the number slowly dwindles down to two, then one, then zero...and you are next. 

My mom tried to offer me distraction by playing a video game with me on one of the airport's multi-use entertainment/information consoles. It didn't work. Nothing could smooth over the fact that I was going to have to get on that plane. 

Getting on the plane equaled death in my paranoia addled brain. I was a sentient being among cattle who were unaware that they were being led to their slaughter. Why didn't everybody know this? Were they all so easily fooled by the friendly faces of the airport staff, distracted and deluded into a feeling of security by all the comforts and conveniences, the video games and snacks that the airlines provided them with, to notice that they were being herded down the chute of death?

The time had arrived. The line was moving. I left the cold comfort of my molded plastic chair to join the queue. Nothing would have suited me better than to remain in that hard plastic chair just a little longer. I'd have been content to ride out eternity in the perpetual limbo of an uncomfortable waiting room, just so long as I could avoid boarding that plane and flying off into the event horizon. 

I said my goodbyes to my mom. I tried to be stoic, but I was completely gutted, and we both knew it. The dream ended with me just a few feet from the plane. I guess I get to remain in limbo for another day at least.

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It occurred to me later in the day that one doesn't really need a passport to travel to Hawaii from the continental United States.