To Sing Frogs Chapter 42b

Sarah had been waiting for five years to see friends she could never accept as lost. The worst of the waiting wasn’t over.

It was finally easier to take our daughter to the airport early than it was to keep answering questions about when we could go. She wandered, paced, and played with her gaming device. None of those things took the edge off of her anticipation. Digital lies staring down from a screen made matters worse. She slumped when Amy told her the estimated time of Marina’s flight had changed by an hour. The second lie came when the plane was delayed a half-hour more. Five minutes after the new arrival time was posted, the board once again added another twenty minutes to Sarah’s wait. The poor little girl was frazzled.

When it was finally announced that the plane was on the ground Amy pulled out a brush and tried to tame Sarah’s hair. It was now like a lion’s mane formed by the rubbing against vinyl chairs as she slumped.

As people began to come from around the corner of customs and immigration, we all waited anxiously near the turnstile. Others who watched from nearby were rewarded with embraces and kisses of loved ones. Sarah’s heart pounded. Soon the flow of people slowed to a trickle. Then it stopped.

“Where are they, Daddy?”

“They’re coming, Sarah,” I said without conviction. I had never received confirmation from Anya that they had actually made the connecting flight.

“What if they don’t come?”

“They’ll come, Sarah. They’ll come.”

“But there are no more people,” she said dejectedly while looking down at the floor.

“Look, Princess, sometimes airplanes from different places arrive at the same time. I didn’t hear anybody speaking Russian when they got here so that probably wasn’t Marina’s plane. I’m sure it’s still coming.”

Sarah livened up again when more travelers began to approach the turnstile. The rush once again diminished until there were no others.

It looked as if she was about to cry. Then a third set of people began to round the corner. Sarah leaned anxiously against the chrome rails. Surely her friend would appear now. After seventy-five to a hundred people from the third group of passengers had passed the turnstile, the crowd was once again beginning to thin. Sarah couldn’t hold her head up any longer.

Then I saw Anya holding her daughter’s three-year old hand. “Sarah, there’s Anya!” My daughter looked up hopefully. “And Marina! There they are, Sarah! There they are!”

Sarah squealed and began to bounce up and down as our travel-weary friends approached. Anya looked trashed. Sasha pulled her arm outward. She walked as far away as their joined hands would allow while maintaining pressure in an attempt to break free. A blonde woman about Anya’s size and age walked next to the Monarch Butterfly. Marina smiled calmly and shyly as they passed through the barrier.

“Marina!”

“Sadah!”

The two life-long friends threw their arms around each other for a long embrace.

“Hello, John,” Anya said while giving me a big hug. “It’s good to see you again.” Then she embraced Amy. “Amy, it has been too long. It’s so good to see you.” When they were finished Anya introduced us to Yana, Marina’s older sister. There were handshakes and then Anya moved quickly to the former orphans so she could translate. Mostly it was small talk. Sarah had worn herself out with two days of anticipation. Marina was exhausted from travel.

Soon the luggage was loaded into one of our two rented vans and we made the ten-minute drive to the hotel. A half hour after our Russian friends checked in, we were sitting around a table eating a late dinner of cardboard and plastic pizza. Nobody cared about the quality of the food. Visiting was cordial but we adults were disappointed at the lack of a show from the two former sisters. Conversation seemed forced. At best it was coerced. Had the two little girls really grown so far apart?

 

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