A Real Life LA Drama

[Scene 1]

I was exhausted.

I'd run a marathon two days getting the logistics of Israel's LA plan in place, then executing those plans. I arrived home from the airport after a grueling day, ready to hit the sack.

My only need was that I speak to my son, giving me the knowledge that he'd arrived safely in LA.

The phone call came right after he made his landing. Once that task item was checked off my list, I went to bed, asleep before my head hit the pillow.

***********
[Scene 2]

It was Keller who prodded me awake, my half groggy eyes squinting open as the sunlight poured into the bedroom. I could tell it was earlier than usual. No use trying to gain a few more winks . . . L'il Man was in full force already. I stumbled out into the kitchen.

Groggily I prepared my morning java, the GilGuy buzzed cheerily about.

"Any calls from LA?" I queried.

"None." he replied. I meandered over to the power source of my cell phone. Mildly surprised, I exclaimed, "Oh! I've two text messages!" while opening them, anticipating LA news.

My eyes blinked; then read again the words:

"I'm in security. They found that I'm a minor." two identical texts, one after another. They had arrived shortly after I had gone to bed.

My mind whirred and wheeled, kicking into high gear in spite of the lack of coffee at the early hour. Curiosity turned to an adrenaline rush as I questioned my husband once again. No calls? How weird.

Logic and reason quickly overtook the adrenaline.

If, by some reason, Israel had been detained, it would have been via an internal security force of the [national airline carrier]. And, at that juncture, his arrival at destination, why stop him then??

Yet, logic played tug-of-war with my mind by accessing the events of the evening prior.

You see, previous to his boarding the nonstop flight, he had checked in at the electronic kiosk, which did not request any information about necessary add-ons. (Due to the logistical factors, we had chosen a carrier that still considered my boy a minor, and required that he travel as such: an Unaccompanied Minor, complete with a hefty fee and a stewardess escort.) We expected the electronic intake to request any such information from us, but it did no such query. Therefore, after obtaining his boarding pass, I scanned the horizon for an airline associate to assist us with the UA portion of the ticket.

I viewed line upon line of 20-deep kiosk passengers, awaiting their turn, with nary an airline official in sight. Baggage handlers were nearby, scuttling bags from kiosks to the revolving belt against the back wall ~ but it was obvious they were not equipped to take funds, nor crown my almost-15-year-old-boy with a moniker he'd rather not wear.

A few minutes passed, and I turned to Israel. "Well," shrugging my shoulders as I spoke. "Let's see if they let you through the security gate. If they don't, they can call a worker for us."

The process was swift and efficient, of which I was glad. We were running just-on-time-hinging-on-too-late, rather than with time to spare. An I love you! sent him off, and the deed was done.

My son was travelling alone.

***********
[Scene 3]

Within 20 minutes of discovering the text messages that read "I'm in security. They found that I'm a minor" I decided my course of action.

It was 5 am in LA ~ way too early to call. I'd text my son, and send an email to his host home, asking them to confirm with me that all was well.

It was well, wasn't it??

I assured myself that it was, and continued, spurred into busy-myself-activities to pass the half-hour window of response time that I'd allowed The LA Sleepers.

Graciously, I even tacked on an additional 15 minutes before placing the first call.

From that moment on, every half hour, I logged a series of four phone calls:

Israel's cell
Israel's travel-specific cell
Host home land line
Host home cell

[Voiceover begins]

People.

This circuit continued for not one, not two, not three . . . but FOUR hours.

I never. reached. one. soul.

EGADS.

The faith-vs-irrational thought war was in full force.

Perhaps they confiscated my son AND his LA pick-up person, and took their phones from them. No. Wait. That's crazy. The LA police force or . . . maybe the FBI would have phoned looking for confirmation of Israel's story. Well, thank goodness he has his passport and several documents confirming his identity and his activity/reason for being in LA. Egads. This is crazy. Of course no one was detained! That's such a far-fetched idea I can't even believe I'm thinking it . . . Everything is fine, and they thought it was too late to call me after dealing with the shake down, and confirmation of the fact that Israel was who he said he was . . . .

and so on.

I waited. Externally patient, internally waning between equal patience, then emotional frenzy.

RING! Phone, RING! I willed it . . . with no results.

I finally resigned myself to my fate of never knowing . . .

[End voiceover]

The phone rang in my hand.

It was a groggy-voiced 14 year old boy on the other end of the line.

"Hi Mom. I just woke up."

(Really? I hadn't of guessed!)

"You are at your host home?"

"Yup."

"So, it worked out OK with security?"

"Oh. Mom. That was a joke."

******
[Scene 4]

[Camera pans into the room, finding the mother lying on the floor in a heap, passed out . . .]