The Evil Eye

I was Sisyfos and my boulder was my over-packed carry-on bag that I was lugging, with frequent rest stops, through the Minneapolis airport to my gate that was very close to being a suburb. I didn’t sleep at all the night before I left because I packed all night. I was exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry. I collapsed sweaty and sore in a corner in the nearly-abandoned waiting area. I had a good two hours until my flight to Amsterdam and I only wanted to put my feet up on my backache-inducing boulder and rest, maybe doze a little.

So why, with maybe fifty other places to sit, did a young woman sit down in the chair right next to mine, an invader in my nest? Obviously, she wasn’t from the land where personal space is at least the size of a North Dakota field, and definitely was not of the standoffish German ancestry that I come from and grew up with in Minnesota.

I did like something about her though. I was feeling the embarrassment of a novice traveler burden with bag that did not have wheels (it is meant to be a backpack, but I was afraid I would do damage if I tried to hoist it on mine) and the stranger’s bag was bigger than mine and seemed even more unwieldy. It was a sports duffle. She was of college student age, wearing a Washington State sweatshirt, and FaceTiming on her phone, wired to earphones, of course.

I couldn’t guess what language she was speaking but she was taking no interest in me. I couldn’t figure it out. We were nearly the only people in the waiting area. Anyone would think we were traveling together, mother and daughter possibly (okay, nearly grandmother and young granddaughter) but I was a bland Minnesotan with skin the color of white bread and graying blond hair and she was exotically attractive with olive skin, dark curly hair, and glimmering brown eyes.

No granddaughter of mine would have those stunning genes.

I had a little inner conversation with myself, chiding myself for my unfriendliness, my oh-so-Germanic sense of personal space. I tried to act like it didn’t bother me, like it was normal, which, any good introvert would tell you, it was not.

Finally, she ended her call, put her phone in her pocket, and stretched her legs out and rested her feet on her bag. That’s my casual, comfortable-with-myself move. I suddenly recognized her as all those casual, comfortable-with-themselves girls I so envied in high school and college. But I was still deciding if I could come up with a good excuse to escape because even more than maintaining personal space, Minnesotans are polite, and I didn’t want this stranger to think I didn’t like her.

I needed something to eat and drink, so I started loading myself up like a pack donkey, because you “never leave your luggage unintended” the airport PA announcements reminds us, especially with a stranger who inexplicably sits right next to you. I was hoping to sneak away. Darn, now I had to come back because she would think I was rude. I could have asked her if she needed anything, but I didn’t, because I was tired, hungry, and thirsty.

And rude.

I shuffled to a kiosk where I got a fruit smoothie and banana. I returned and sat in my chair, shedding coat, shoulder bag, and boulder in a heap around me, and drank my fruit smoothie in front of her. That would scare her away.

She turned to me, smiled, and said, “How are you?”

We were on the same flight to Amsterdam and we talked non-stop until we boarded.

Ege is from Turkey and she is a student at Washington State College on a tennis scholarship (her big bag contained her beloved rackets). She was on her way home for Christmas enduring a very long trip with multiple plane changes in multiple countries. She wasn’t going to arrive home until Saturday. She had just finished final exams; I had just finished grading final exams. I bet she was tired, hungry, and dehydrated too.

I watched her bag while she went to find something to eat (after asking if I needed anything more) and she watched my bag while I took a walk, stretched my aching legs, visited with Eva, the German Shepherd Service Dog, and found a restroom.

We traded emails, I gave her my school business card and let her know if she ever needed help with school work, she could contact me. She dug in her shoulder bag and pulled out a key ring and held it in her palm to show me. “You know what Evil Eye is?” she asked. I told her that I had heard of it.

“This is Evil Eye. It will give you good luck.” She handed it to me.

It was a small, blue glass eye but not a creepy eye, but a beautiful cobalt blue smooth disc with a white center (called Nazar Boncuğu in Turkey).

Why did Ege sit down next to me when she could have sat anywhere? To teach me a lesson and remind me why I love to travel.

I had, at the last minute, put some Minnesota post cards that I had found rummaging for envelopes, in my bag. I gave her one of Split Rock Lighthouse and told her about Duluth and the North Shore. I felt it such an inadequate gift in exchange for what she gave me.

Ege had given me good luck and protection. I hung the Evil Eye on my shoulder bag and felt instantly like I was going to be fine the whole trip through.

We were assigned seats in different parts of the plane and, in the hurry to disembark and make connecting flights, I did not get to see her again.

Exhaustion, hunger, and dehydration can ruin a day, let alone a trip, and the chance to experience something truly remarkable, a stranger who could sit anywhere but sat next to me.