We sat together in the close quarters of seats 25 A&B.
You had already put our bags up in the extra small overhead compartments, fighting them, willing them to fit in.
The seat belts were buckled. The tray tables were stored. The seat back was in its upright position.
I stared out a fishbowl window and took in the world outside. One more flight. One more 10,000 foot mountain in front of us to climb. We were world wearied. Suitcase fatigued. Unintentional gypsies facing one more flight delay. And more than ready to be home.
But as we taxied to the runway, you put the Bose headphones around my ears and pushed play.
An all orchestra rendition of “Lights Will Guide You Home” (You found it on iTunes, you’ve been obsessed ever since) washed over me in waves, and just like that all of the chaos disappeared. And rest filled the space in between.
The wheels lifted up just at the perfectly timed crescendo in the chorus (but you already knew that, you had planned it that way), as the pink and orange of a Chicago cotton candy sky rushed by us in parade. And just as we burst through the clouds to the golden sky on top, I couldn’t help but smile at what had become the soundtrack to our lives.
I didn’t need the lights to guide me, with you beside me… I was already home.