This wee bit follows on from this post… where, having been racing through Detroit Airport in the hopes of catching the day’s final flight to Tennessee, I have given up and am standing disconsolately on the moving walkway, my hopes of reaching Knoxville dashed.
But, just at that moment, just when I’m ready to hang up my tartan and concede defeat, the lights overhead burst into a fierce display of fiery reds and invigorating oranges. A victorious and entirely unexpected xylophone version of Chariots of Fire breaks out and fills the underpass. I feel a sudden jolt of energy. Dammit, I’ve made it this far, I’m not giving up yet. Maybe the pilot decided to wait for me! Maybe the flight is as delayed as I am! Maybe destiny has saved me an aisle seat! I pick up my paces, plus my three tonnes of reading material and race out of the tunnel, bags whipsmacking against my legs. I gallop through the concourse. At the far end of the deserted terminal, the gate agents see me, jump to attention and spur me on.
“Run, girl, run!” shouts one, scooping the air to urge me on. “We holding this for you! We clinging on to this plane’s tail till you git on it!”
“Come on, you’re so close!” calls the other, stretching her arm out for my boarding card as I approach. “You’re gonna make it! You’re gonna make it!”
“Lucky you got them long legs,” says the first as I wheeze past her and onto the jetway.
“Congratulations! I sure hope Tennessee is worth it. Now, run!”
I pound along the jetway and bound onto the plane, narrowly avoiding knocking myself out on the hobbit-height door. I sink into my seat, the last passenger on board the day’s final flight to the Volunteer State, exhausted, but beaming. I’ve made it! It’s all back on; the cows, the festival, and most importantly, the Grand Parade. Despite the stressful circumstances, I got a good feeling about Michigan, plus a fine opportunity to reassess the inspiring qualities of the xylophone, and for that this state will always hold a special place in my heart.