Soft, quiet light peeked and poked its way into my bedroom as the hustlings and bustlings of Chicago mornings rang out a tune below the apartment. I sleepily turned to look at the clock placed beside my bed. It read 7 am. I rolled onto my back and sat up – stretching and yawning. Eyeing my reflection in the mirror, I thought about how I was going to have to do something major with my hair – at the present state, it was sticking up at various places. Running my fingers through my stick-straight brown hair with golden highlights, I slowly got out of bed and walked over to my closet.
"What to wear to an interview at Columbia University in New York?" I asked myself. I was so excited to have an interview at Columbia. All through high school, I had strived to be the best I could be and look where I was now! Getting dressed to fly to New York for an interview – this meant the world to me. After looking through many different outfits, I decided on a knee-length black skirt with a stunning white and black striped blouse, small necklace and earrings and gorgeous black heels. I quickly stepped into my bathroom, hurrying to take a shower. I was thrilled! I would fly to New York at 10 o'clock, getting there around 12:00 or 1:00 with plenty of time to spare before my 4:45 appointment with the head professor of the school – Dr. Jameson. As I stepped out of the shower and dried off, I heard my mom yell from down the hall of our apartment.
"Melanie! Are you almost ready? We have to leave for the airport soon!" I glanced at the clock and rolled my eyes. 7:30. She was such a worrywart. My flight was at 10:00 and the airport was less than 15 minutes away. We definitely didn't need to leave soon.
"Yes, Mom. I'll be right there." I dressed, making sure everything looked right. Then I blew my hair dry and curled it to add small, yet gorgeous curls to my normally straightened hair. Last came the make-up. I tried my hardest to get every part of the application right. When I was done, I looked stunning – well, at least that's what I thought. I quickly threw my make-up, toiletries, and more than 5 changes of clothes (just in case) into my suitcase and ran out the door. My mom stood by the car, tapping her foot impatiently. I sighed and grinned. "Mom, chill out. We have plenty of time to get to the airport before we have to leave."
Shaking her head, all she said was, "Well, a little change of plans. Come on, dear, put your suitcase in the trunk – we have to hurry." Okay, this was weird. My mother never had a 'little' change of plans. For her, changes in plans had to be planned more than 3 weeks prior to an event. What was she planning for? I quickly changed my focus back to getting to the airport. Moving as fast as I could in my heels, I made my way to the trunk of our Ford Flex, opened the trunk, and put my suitcase in. Actually, it was borderline throwing, but that is beside the point. I closed the trunk, walked to the passenger's door, and got in. My mom instantly peeled out of the driveway.
"Good grief Mom, people are gonna think we're in the Daytona 500." I teased. "Slow down!" "Mel, honey, we have to get to the airport really soon." Running her fingers through her hair, she muttered, "We should have left earlier."
"But Mom," I countered. "Our plane doesn't leave until 10 o'clock. We are perfectly fine for time." She shook her head. What was up? "Mom, why are you so worried? And why do I have a feeling that this rushing has to do with our 'little' change of plans?"
"Mel, darling, I'm just worried that we'll miss our flight." She paused, as if carefully choosing her next words. "Because we're leaving at 8:15."
"What?" I was beyond confused. "I don't get it. Why are we leaving at 8:15?"
"Honey, do you remember Mrs. Benson?" She suddenly asked. "You met her when you were a little girl, maybe 7 or 8."
"Yeah, Mom, I do remember her. What does she have to do with leaving early?"
"Well, I don't know if you remember or not, but she lives in New York and I figured since we were going to New York anyway, we could go and visit her." She continued rambling. "Plus, I already promised Julia that I would visit before important events took place…" She trailed off and then remembered something. "Oh, and she really wants to meet you. She, well, we, also want you to become acquainted with a very special member of her family." Smiling, she playfully nudged my elbow.
Great. My mother was trying to get me set up with one of Mrs. Benson's sons. Personally, I always thought Mrs. Benson was, how do I put this nicely, a stuck-up, rigid woman who cared more about the condition of her expensive Persian rug than other people. Last time I was at her house, I was playing outside, fell and got a bloody nose. The first thing she said when I came running in was, "Heavens, child. You're going to spoil my rug!" To say the least, Mrs. Benson wasn't my favorite person. This was going to be an interesting day.
Arriving at the airport, my mom drove up to the parking garage attendant and rolled down her window. She grabbed her purse and pulling out her wallet asked, "Hello, sir. How are you today?"
"I'm very good, ma'am. How many days are you parking here?" He responded polietely.
"Four days." she replied softly, glancing momentarily at me. I eyed her suspiciously, but she ignored the look on my face and turned her eyes back to the attendant.
"That will be 72 dollars, please." He responded, calculating the cost in his head. Why four days? What exactly does my mother have planned?