Barely Missed
“Ah shit,”
I whisper to myself as the train fades into the distance. The eerie silence of the train station seems to amplify the accelerating sound of my heart pumping. I was only a minute late. In what world has Spain ever done anything on time? Whatever. My body stumbles toward the escalator as new ways to get to Madrid fill my lightheaded brain. Taxi? No, too expensive. Bus? Fuck, the next one is in an hour. Eventually, I end up in front of the dull grey ticketing machine.
11:55am — 12:37pm — 1:15pm — 2:10pm —
Shit. I start doing some calculations while my card swipes against the payment terminal. My flights at 2, it takes 32 minutes to get to terminal 4, then check-in for 15 minutes, and security is like what, another 20 minutes? Altogether it takes around an hour to get on the flight which means I should still make it with just enough time.
A ticket for 12:01 falls out of the ticketing kiosk and I make my way to the cafe inside the station. The glass door swings open, and I’m greeted with the loving smile of the barista and the growling of my stomach. Right, I didn’t have breakfast. With a coffee and muffin in one hand, I pull out my phone with the other:
11:18 am
Perfect, I have time to check in online plus I don’t have any baggage anyway so I can go straight to security. Another 15 minutes saved. The fibers of my chest start to unravel, and my heartbeat settles from my head back down into my ribcage. A sigh of relief escapes me as I take a sip of coffee and bite into the lukewarm chocolate muffin.
11:45 am
My hair flutters over my eyes as the train pulls into the station and I find my way to Cart C with my bag tightly strapped to my back. I step into the train, shrink into my seat, pull my headphones on, and watch as we pull away from Segovia. A tightness builds in my stomach and I can’t tell if it’s because I’m excited to see my family again or nervous that I almost missed my flight. It’s okay, all is good, this feeling should settle soon.
12:20 pm
After what felt like 5 minutes, I hop onto the transit train that goes from the railway to the airport. Perfect, one more train and we’re done.
God. Why is my stomach hurting so much? Why is it getting so hard to breathe? What? Is there something wrong? I double-checked everything.
wait.
I pull out my phone and open my ticket.
— Departing Time: 13:00 —
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I knew something was wrong. The train doors slide open, and I sprint up the staircase. God, how could I be so stupid? I spin around in a daze as I try to figure out which way the exit is so I can run to my gate. There should be time. Where’s the exit? Why does that sign still say that terminal 4 is that way?
Suddenly the nervousness reaches the rest of my body. I can feel every single cell start tingling as my brain catches up to reality. My palms shiver and sweat as I pull out my phone to confirm my location.
I got off 4 stops too early.
Numbness takes over my body as I slide down the stairs trying to find out which train I need to take to get to the airport.
12:30 pm
I’m running out of time. I walk over to a man dressed in a brown cardigan, navy blue jeans, and a red t-shirt and stutter in Spanish:
Ehm… perdona, tengo una vuelta en treinta minutos… como ir al aeropuerto?
(Uhm.. excuse me, I have a flight in 30 minutes, how to go to the airport?)
He pulls out his phone to check the train timings as another train pulls into the station. Walking onto the train he tells me to get on the next train that comes in and to make sure I get off at the last stop. I nod and bow to him saying thank you and his train leaves as fast as it came. Did I just bow at him… Nevermind. My head is still fried.
12:35 pm
The train finally pulls up in front of me and I hop on while simultaneously praying to any god that would be listening. I could really use a miracle, and some water. It’s only now I realize how dry my throat is, and how labored my breathing is, and how tight my neck is, and…
I take a deep breath. It’ll be fine, all I can do is wait until I get to the airport.
12:42 pm
My feet pound against the stairs, my hair rustles in the still air of the airport, and my eyes are set on the signs leading me toward security. My preloaded ticket flashes open as I tap it against the scanner.
*beep*
The gates slide open and I join an obnoxiously long line of passengers waiting to get on their plane.
12:47 pm
I throw my bag onto the security belt, my hands fumble at my waist as my feet simultaneously slip my shoes off. Come on, scan faster.
12:50 pm
Gate D6. It’s right in front of me. I’m almost there. 3 people are still in line waiting to board and it seems like someone is having trouble with their boarding pass.
12:52 pm
Pools of sweat form in every crevice of my body, my eyes are blurry from the pent-up stress behind them, and my suit jacket is making my entire back feel like I’m sitting in a sauna. The man with issues finally walks into the plane.
12:58 pm
My lips shake and my eyes close. Slow breathing comes steadily, my chest starts to rise up and down in a consistent pattern, and my grip on the armrests loosens. I made it. I fucking made it.
13:00 pm
