Flight to Portland, OR

As I step out of LA Fitness, my brother's snowboots inadvertently tap my purple luggage, nearly sending me stumbling onto the unforgiving concrete sidewalk. I swiftly regain my balance, my hands clutching the nearest welcome stanchion sign. The scorching heat emanating from the sun-soaked metal stings my palms, and I can't help but wince, releasing my black carry-on from my right shoulder to the grass below. A soft chorus of laughter dances behind me, drawing my attention.

Two middle-aged men, sporting muscle shirts that seem at least three sizes too small, casually stride out beside me. Their eyes lock onto mine with an almost comical intensity, as they dramatically press the silver square "push to open" button, creating a cacophonous noise that forces me to turn my head. Perhaps I should have followed suit to avoid the trouble, but I remind myself I'm not handicapped, reserving such courtesies for those who genuinely need them.

The magic of technology grants them automatic passage through the double doors, while I stand by the stanchion sign, my curiosity piqued. One of the men extracts his wired earphones from his right ear, his long dreadlocks falling away from his face, his eyes still locked onto mine. Meanwhile, the other gentleman, with a dark man bun, retrieves his blue Canyon Endurance bike from the nearby rack.

"I hope you enjoyed your workout," the man greets me with a hint of condescension, his piercing blue eyes flickering down to the multiple bags now scattered on the grass at my feet. I arch an eyebrow, leaning casually against the stanchion sign. "I did, thanks," I reply with a sigh, a hint of exasperation in my voice.

He smirks, turning to join his companion, who's now perched on his bike, while the dreadlocked gentleman casually wheels his skateboard closer to him. I couldn't help but notice that it had been propped against the bike rack, entirely unsecured. Inwardly, I marvel at the audacity of such trust in this world. The nerve, I think to myself. You'd expect people in the Pacific Northwest to be a bit friendlier compared to those in the Northeast, but I suppose every place has its share of bad eggs.

My brown eyes follow their path as they lead me down a dirt trail, revealing a picturesque scene of a lush grass field adorned with vibrant flower beds. The field is alive with the playful antics of numerous dogs engaged in spirited games of fetch. Amidst the action, a border collie leaps gracefully into the air to catch an object, though the blinding rays of the sun obscure my vision.

I raise my fingers to shield my face from the relentless heat, preventing the beads of sweat from forming along my hairline. Squinting, my gaze shifts to a set of slender legs propped against a soccer net, the owner's Chuck Taylor high-tops pointed towards the four-legged companion now sprinting towards him, a green frisbee firmly clamped in its eager jaws. I can't help but feel a pang of anxiety for the man – that dog is nearly as large as I am, and it's not just the thickness of its coat that makes it appear imposing; it's pure muscle.

Just before this intriguing scene, an empty picnic chair sits facing the duo. The thought of sinking into the comfort of that red seat is incredibly tempting. I swiftly hoist my luggages from the ground, their weight reminiscent of Santa's sleigh, and shoulder them. With each dragging step along the now dusty path, I inch closer to the chair, my eyelids threatening to surrender to the weariness.

Resisting the urge to close my eyes, I muster my strength. Just before my knees can give in to the exhaustion, I collapse into the welcoming embrace of the chair's backrest. My bags scatter around me in the grass, forming an impromptu barrier, deterring any potential intruders. My back molds into the chair's contours, much like the way my dark, drooping eye bags conform to the fatigue etched on my face. I can't help but wonder what I could have bought on a shopping spree, filling my bags with heavy, oversized items, instead of lugging them here.

With a heavy heart, I let out a sigh, reaching into my back pocket to retrieve my phone. My blue acrylic nails tap against the home screen, revealing iMessage notifications that instantly draw my attention. The words in stark white text cast a shadow over my honey-brown eyes: "Our campsite reservation got canceled, so don't meet us at the address I sent you. Tell me your address." A wave of disappointment washes over me, causing everything to sag – my smile, my shoulders, and my spirits.

I navigate to the phone icon app on my home screen and locate the contact labeled "brother." Without hesitation, I select the call option under his contact information. Raising my phone to my ear, a sharp, loud ring buzzes through my eardrum, making me jolt upright like the dog from earlier, though far less gracefully. In the process, I uncross my legs.

"Your call has been forwarded to an automated voice message system. 9**-*-** is unavailable. At the tone, please record your message."

BEEP. Ugh.

"Hi Michael, it's Marissa," I begin, speaking into the voicemail. "I saw your text, but I think you're probably on the plane now. I landed about two hours ago. Just wanted to let you know where I was because I got bored waiting at the airport, so I ubered to LA Fitness. It was a great workout... thanks for asking." I can't help but chuckle at my own attempt at humor and rub my dry, crusty eyes.

"Now I've found a park with some lovely dogs. Just call or text me back when you've seen this to let me know where we're going to stay tonight. Thanks, bro!"

With that, I gently set my phone back onto my lap, reaching to pull the black backpack straps out from under my bright blue Brooks sneakers. I position the backpack against the armchair and twist my torso to the right, my legs following suit as they shift from the ground to rest parallel against the chair. I tug at my light brown curls, releasing them from the nape of my neck to let them dangle off the backpack, which is now doubling as my makeshift pillow. My back muscles settle into the contours of the chair, and the sun's warm rays feel like a cozy blanket, tucking me in.

My eyes start to flit restlessly, shifting from the bird's nest in the tree by my feet to the mothers with their fanny packs engaged in a jogging and walking combo on the other side of the trail. The more I let my gaze wander, the harder it becomes to resist the urge to keep them open. The sounds of leaves rustling in the trees gradually diminish, and the conversations of the mothers slowly fade into an indistinct mumble. The world begins to blur and fade, like the dimming lights in my house as I surrender to the sweet embrace of slumber.

_

A piercing wail from a baby's stroller jolts me awake, and I slowly slide my arm out from under my backpack pillow. My eyes, once shielded from the bright daylight, now manage to stay open as I bring my wrist to my face. The digital display on my Apple Watch reads "4:30." My honey-brown eyes widen like two startled golf balls. What? Did I really sleep for three hours outside? I lower my head to inspect the area beneath me, and my heart rate gradually returns to a more manageable pace.

To my relief, my bags remain exactly where I left them. My purple bag sits right under my feet, my luggage is positioned beside the legs of the picnic chair, and my grey duffel bag is nestled in between. I carefully ease myself into an upright position, relying on my hands for support, and my hands cradle my phone from my chest. The screen's brightness clears away the fog of my deep and unexpected nap. I immediately check for any texts from Michael, my thumb skimming through the familiar interfaces of iMessage and phone calls. Disappointingly, there are no texts from him.

Then, my fingers hover over the contact labeled "Tyler" as I gaze at the picture of his thick, dark brown beard, and neatly kept brown hair that sways across the temples of his forehead. The soft smile on his face compels one to appear on my own cheeks as I look at the calm glimmer in his eyes. With a press of my thumb, I initiate the call on his contact page, lifting the phone to my ear, and tucking my knees into my chest, both feet now resting on the picnic chair.

Two long rings sting my ear until a deep, cracked voice interrupts the third ring from the other end. "Hello?"

A half-smirk quirks to the left of my face. "Today was chaotic. And it's only 4:30 Pacific time."

I hear a soft chuckle on the other line, envisioning him shaking his head in disbelief, both because he finds it entertaining and because he knows I do too. "What was chaotic about today?"

Buckle up, buddy. "Oh boy," I exhale deeply, my attention momentarily diverted to the baby in her stroller, returning from a large loop with her father at the helm. The pacifier in her mouth doesn't hinder her bright blue eyes from locking onto mine, forming a toothless smile. I raise my hand and wave to greet her, and in response, she flails her arms in excitement.

"I wake up at 4:45 in the morning, right?" My words spill into the phone as I continue my tale, my eyes momentarily shifting to the passing father, offering him a friendly greeting too. I silently mouth the words, "cute baby," and his smile broadens so much that he reaches for the sunshade, unfurling it to reveal his baby to the public eye.

Tyler replies with a simple, "Right."

"So my flight is at 8 in the morning for Portland. I get up, I get ready. It's a 50-minute drive to the airport. I forgot to check in, so I pulled up the United app and saw that MY FLIGHT DEPARTS FROM BOSTON. I'm laying in my childhood bedroom in Jersey, mind you." A sudden vibration from my phone prompts me to lower it from my ear and press the speaker button. I cup the phone with my hands to read a text banner at the top of my screen. 

Message from Michael: We are coming to get you in a half hour, we had landing issues with the airplane so that's why we are running behind. We also found a spot 40 minutes from the site to set up ourselves for the night.

My thumb slides the message down, and my fingers swiftly tap out a reply: That's still fun, we'll make the most of it.

"So I panic. I call United. I cancel the flight. They moved me to a 7:54 AM flight non-stop, which is, honestly, amazing. But at this point, it's 6 in the morning and I'm booking it to the airport, going on I-80 at 80 MPH."

"Don't tell me you—"

"—I almost missed my flight."

A brief silence hangs in the air. My mouth opens, and I can feel the tension building on the other end, but I push on.

"I text my brother, whose flight is ACTUALLY out of Boston. He has a layover. AND lands at 4 PM Pacific time in Oregon. Meanwhile, I landed at 10 AM. I have four bags packed with hiking crap. I'm basically stranded in the airport for six hours."

"You waited six hours?" Tyler's voice carries a hint of disbelief, a touch of stress for my predicament.

I nod, though he can't see that over the phone, crossing my legs tightly. "Before it got to that point, I asked myself, why not explore? The airport doesn't have storage lockers; I tried asking security, but they closed them down since COVID-19. So I haul all my bags, nearly breaking a shoulder, to Uber to an LA Fitness. I work out, rebuild my shoulder back up, and now I'm just here, laying in a park with my bags."

I hear another chuckle from the other end as my eyes shift to a guy feeding some squirrels across from me with bits of bread. I whisper, "Tyler, I look homeless."

"I'm sure it's a lovely park," he assures me, and he's not wrong. "I'm sure you're making friends with the homeless." If having 50-year-old men judge my distress is akin to making friends, then sure, I think to myself.

"Okay, but then my brother," I continue, sidestepping his kind statement, "he texts me saying: 'Our campsite reservation got canceled,' so we are INSTEAD going dispersed camping around Trillium."

A shiver runs down my spine. "Tyler, I've been finished at LA Fitness since 1:30. I've had 4 coffees today."

Another silence.

"Okay, that's a wild day," he finally responds. "I love the trip to the gym in the middle of it." He brings a positive spin to the conversation, which is just his style – he wouldn't miss a day at the gym either.

"No. Days. Off. I might die on Mt. Hood tomorrow, so I can make an exception for then."

He laughs heartily. "They don't know you, son. You're gonna carry the boats."

I let out a loud cackle. 

"So, did your brother finally come get you?" he asks. 

"No. There's so much snow by Mt. Hood they needed to shut the campground down for people." My eyes glance at the climbing shoes attached to my bag, and I roll my eyes in frustration. "Which is so annoying because it's one of the best sites to camp in the area. And this is the last day they were going to close it; it opens tomorrow."

"Oh, man," Tyler empathizes with my predicament.

"But our Airbnb reservation is for tomorrow, so today was our day to camp. The other days are reserved for hiking and beach camping," I explain the words carrying a hint of exasperation.

Tyler's voice is reassuring, "Find some wilderness off the road to camp in for the night."

I pause, contemplating our options. "I think we're going to find somewhere 30-50 minutes out from the site that has pretty views."

"That's a good alternative too," he acknowledges.

"I feel like I lived multiple days today."

Tyler's voice softens with understanding, "All that coffee is treating you well. There's still so much time left in the day."

"I camped in LA Fitness, and now I'm doing a second camping."

"Camping outside of LA Fitness will be more fun," Tyler remarks playfully, "You're camping everywhere on this trip."

A chuckle escapes me. "Also, hiking Olympic National Park. And then Cannon Beach."

"That's going to be cool," Tyler enthuses, "I’m jealous, it’ll be a good time."