Part 12

It had already been five hours since Juliet’s plane had landed. Five long hours of waiting and wandering and utter confusion. Now, at the house where she was to spend the next seven months of her life, she waited in an exhausted daze.

After her layover in Chicago and an even more turbulent flight over the Atlantic Ocean, Juliet had finally landed in Paris. Everyone around her bustled about with anticipation of getting off the plane, but Juliet waited patiently in her seat. There was no point, she felt, in standing in the crowded aisles with impatient people trying to get their stowed baggage down while standing shoulder to shoulder with just about everyone on the plane. Where was the point in pulling down your luggage when you know without a doubt that not only would at least three people be hit by either you or your luggage, but that you would now be taking up twice as much space as you were before. So Juliet waited in her seat. Though eager to stand and stretch her weary limbs, she was now reveling in her new found space with the vacated seats next to her.

Staring out the window, she watched French workers move about underneath the belly of the plane unloading, refueling, and signaling with their flashlights. Her dream of actually living in France was now just about fulfilled. Once she got her baggage, found the bus to take her to her new home, and get her new set of keys she would finally be able to say that lived in France. To fulfill a dream she had since high school. To live amongst the French. To drink wine and eat cheese. To listen to French and speak French in return.

Juliet looked up to see if the people standing had started moving. With the front of the line beginning their slow waddle towards the door, she finally started to collect her things and joined the crowd.

Just a few more hours and I’ll actually be able to sleep in a bed, she thought happily. Sleeping, let alone sitting, in an economy class seat had left with a body dying for movement.



Ten minutes at the baggage claim and finally the baggage began to show. The conveyor belt groaned and started with a few jolts. Soon baggages began showing up and people pushed closer to view the output. Over her shoulder, a French family was greeting relatives who had just come back from their American tour. At the sound of the poetry of the French language, Juliet’s ears were immediately drawn into the conversation. The fact that she didn’t understand most of it didn’t seem to bother her at the moment, for she was too overwhelmed by the amount of French being spoken all around her.

Fifty minutes later and the crowd had diminished significantly. The conveyor belt revealed what was left of the intense crowds. One red luggage, badly beaten, one giant black duffle bag, of which Juliet was sure she could fit into, and one cardboard box which seemed to have leaked one of its contents out were all that remained on the conveyor belt. Around it, airport workers were walking back and forth, some of them stopping to talk to their coworker. Juliet stared at the remains of the conveyor belt. The three luggages making their same lowly trek around and around and around. And yet, Juliet still couldn’t find her second luggage.

One more turn, maybe something happened and they’re still getting it to the baggage claim, she nervously thought. One more turn. Still the same three bags dejectedly paraded before her.
She turned and made her way to what she assumed was the lost baggage desk.

“Uh, je suis désolée, monsieur, je uh, I um, lost my, uh, baggage,”