A Southern Girl: A Novel

15: Elizabeth

A Southern Girl 138 j 15 i Elizabeth We flew to New York, and if I die tomorrow that day will rank among the most memorable of my life, because you cannot imagine the drama of all those children coming off a plane into new families, a new country , new lives. I get emotional just thinking about it, and that afternoon at Kennedy Airport the combination of nerves, anticipation and wonder threatened to overwhelm me. Coleman was just as anxious, I think, but he hid it better by flirting with the flight attendants and cracking jokes, like asking me if, when she grew older, she might apply to RuCLA for college. I can’t believe I actually laughed at that, but stress affects us all differently. We landed at La Guardia and took a cab to Kennedy, where a representative of Open Arms convened a briefing on do’s and dont’s. She spoke from a portable dais, an older woman who reminded me of photographs I’d seen of Margaret Mead. “Please do not cry,” she instructed, “as Korean culture does not associate tears with happiness, so if you cry the children will think you are disappointed or sad.” Coleman couldn’t resist another joke. “Great,” he whispered in my ear. “You’ve been crying since we left New Hampton,” which was not literally true, although the excitement of it all did cause me to dab my eyes a few times. I asked him to please shut up so I could listen. “We want you to stay in touch with the agency as your child grows up,” continued the representative. “Send us pictures or notices of special events in your child’s life.” I looked around at the faces of those who, like us, were about to be matched with a stranger, a “pig in a poke,” as Sarah put it, and I thought about the fact that regardless of who stepped off the plane, the lives of every person present for the briefing, and every orphan currently nearing the airspace over Columbus, Ohio on Northwest Orient Flight 451, would be altered beyond recall in the next two hours, and for a lifetime thereafter . Talk about pressure. Confluence 139 The briefing ended at 5:00, leaving a whole, endless forty-five minutes until arrival. The greeting families gathered in a special reception area set aside by the airline. Clusters of parents, children and grandparents huddled together at the fringes. We mingled in the crowd, finding ourselves at one point standing next to a young couple who gazed about with the uneasiness of two people who wanted to talk but were too shy to introduce themselves. I introduced myself to the man. “Steve Zarnell,” he said. “This is my wife, Betty.” “Oh,” I said. “We have a son named Steven. Do you have children?” “This will be our first,” said Betty Zarnell, a plump brunette with dark eyes and a faintly pug nose. “Boy or girl?” I wanted to know. “A boy,” she said. “Three months old. We can hardly wait.” “A new one, younger than our daughter,” Coleman observed. “Have you picked out a name?” “Steven, Jr.,” said Steve. The Zarnells lived in Pennsylvania, near Scranton. They had married knowing that he was sterile and had been on a number of adoption waiting lists for several years. “We couldn’t wait any longer,” said Betty Zarnell, her excitement growing visibly as she rocked on the balls of her feet. “And just think—only twenty more minutes.” Coleman excused himself and walked to a nearby monitor displaying arrival updates. Northwest Orient Flight 451 “on time,” he reported when he returned. I saw an older couple with three Korean children, two boys and a girl, talking to the Open Arms representative. All about us families clustered , talking in low voices and repeatedly looking toward the arrival gate. Through the window flanking the gate we saw the jetway, ready to swing out to couple with the aircraft. Coleman surprised me by a serious question. “Remember when you suggested this? It was what, four years ago?” “About that.” “Did you ever think you would be standing here, waiting?” I didn’t answer right away, but nodded. “My instincts for things like this are pretty good. I thought it would happen one day, although you put me through some anxious moments in the process.” A Southern Girl 140 “I’m sorry for...