From USA to the UK

         Exhausted eyes scanned the parking lot, searching for somewhere to park. Driving from green ramp, to red ramp, to gold ramp, and then to the blue ramp. They were all the same, all of them filled with cars of the evidently rich to the profoundly poor. Quietly, the car shut off, introducing us to a final unwelcome moment of silence. My eyes shot to my mother in the driver’s seat. She was in control of where we went, but not how we got there. I think she blamed herself, although she shouldn’t have. My sister and brother grew anxious not understanding in the slightest what was going on. My stepfather, Andy, was silent and seemed to be holding back an unexpected smugness.
         As we exited the dirty Bravada I couldn’t help but glare at him. My stepfather seemed to be upset, even threw around a tear or two but a part of us all were relieved that it was over. He turned around and looked at me. “Well, here we go” Andy sighed and looked at me, like I had any influence over this.
         My mom was upset. I hated to know it, I almost wish she would have faked the same happiness I was trying to fake, but deep down I knew no one would benefit from it. We walked through the cruel but familiar cold of Minneapolis, Minnesota into the false, stale warmth of the airport.
         Everything at the airport was dull, boring, and untouched. The workers were tired and the people were plain. The air even seemed to have given up. We waited while my stepfather went to get his ticket and flight information situated, and before he went through security with the bare-footed, no-keyed, lighter-less people, we said our goodbyes. It was odd to think of him going back to England with his family, who might as well have been strangers to my siblings and me.
         Naturally the camera came out for pictures, which I suppose was good but at the time I couldn’t think of any reason to preserve this horrid moment. I felt odd about it because this was so expected and dreaded by me for so long, it was almost boring. Rehearsed a thousand times again, reused, and recycled.
         As he walked away from us my mother, brother, sister and I did also into the opposite direction. We reentered the car while listening to News from Lake Wolbegon on National Public Radio. It was almost as if my stepfather had never been there. My mind drifted off as I listened to the voice of Garrison Keilor. Saying goodbye to Andy seemed to be a sigh being released, rather than a tear being shed. I think that’s how we moved on.