Final Call

Your flight is cancelled and everyone is gone. At midnight, the speaker calls your name.

The dark reaches your row. When the lights come back, a boarding pass is lying on the seat next to you.

A cleaner pulls you into the service corridors and tells you what Flight 919 has been waiting for.

Dee wants your boarding pass. A scrap of paper from her apron says why you shouldn't let her have it.

One belt is still turning in baggage claim, and the tag on the only suitcase has your name on it.

Two hundred and fourteen names, all typed except the one in Seat 14C. And the clocks have been lying to you.

The long way up runs through the dark, past a second walkway full of people holding the same boarding pass.

Nothing in here has changed since 1987. On the wall, in a frame, is the whole page.

Under your name, the paper is almost worn through. Then the speaker chimes for the last time.

You have time to write one name.