From the Red Wagon to the First-Class Cabin
Introduction
“I have a surprise for you, honey,” my husband, Denver declared. “I've planned some things for us to do this Labor Day weekend”. He handed me a box containing 10 slips of paper, each with a possible activity written on it. He smiled and said, “I'm going to show you how well I know you. Pick three slips of paper and without looking at them hand them to me I'll read them and pick the one I think you’ll choose.”
I selected three slips, which he silently read. He then nodded and said, OK I know which one you're going to choose. He handed the slips back to me, I read the first one: “Cruise to Alaska.” I laughed and said, “Wow honey, you really go all out,” then tossed it aside. The second slip said, “First class cruise to Alaska.” I said, “Haha. aren't you funny?” A little annoyed, I read the third slip: “Go on an Alaskan cruise.” I frowned at him and said, “OK, what’s going on?
“So, which one do you choose,” he asked.
“I’ll take the first-class cruise to Alaska.”
“I’ve already booked it,” he said. “We leave on Labor Day.”
“Really?” I squealed.
He pulled two first-class tickets out of his briefcase. I squealed again and jumped around the room. Then I stopped, looked at him and said, “I have nothing to wear. I need to go shopping!”
For weeks, we pored over brochures and pictures and dreamed about the natural beauty of the frontier we were about to explore together. Finally, as I wrapped my new sequined dinner dress in tissue paper and placed it in my suitcase, I recalled another time that had to do with packing and papers.
As a struggling welfare mom with four children, every Monday morning I packed a rusty little red wagon with newspapers, bottles, and cans to sell at the recycling center. I left the house at 5 A.M., so no one would see me in the dark. The police officer’s wife in the next apartment cracked her door to keep track of my kids during the two hours I was gone. I filled the wagon with trash from the weekend and usually came home with ten dollars, which enabled me to feed my family until the next allocation of food stamps arrived. Walking those dark streets in ink-smeared clothes and digging through trashcans that reeked of beer and rot, I never imagined I would one day pack beautiful clothes for an Alaskan cruise.
The long-awaited day finally arrived. Denver dropped me off in front of the United Airlines terminal at Los Angeles International airport, so I could check in while he parked the car.
“We have a first class upgrade available for your flight to Vancouver, British Columbia,” the ticket agent informed me. I didn't know what a first-class upgrade was, but I had heard about it. I was excited enough about the first-class cruise, “How much is it?” I asked, “Fifty Dollars a ticket,” she said with a smile.
“That sounds great!” I whisked my first ever credit card from my purse, handed it to her like the seasoned traveler the agent likely suspected that I wasn't -- and with a quick swipe, we were first class all the way.
I clutched the tickets. As soon as my husband came through the automatic doors, I ran to him, waving the paper sleeves like I’d won the lottery.
“You'll never guess what happened,” I shrieked, like a little girl unable to keep a secret. “I got us an upgrade, and now we're flying first class all the way!”
He lifted his left eyebrow, as he always does when we discuss finances. “And how much did that cost us?” he asked.
“Only fifty Dollars each”, I swooned. “Can you believe our good fortune?”
“Guess you can't beat that,” he said. He took my hand, and a familiar spark of love passed between us. Seventeen years of marriage had not decreased the love I felt for this good man.
We had some time to kill before boarding. While we waited, I sat and daydreamed. Denver brought me a cup of coffee, steaming hot, light and sweet, just the way I liked it. Wrapping my hands around the cup, I lifted it to my face and let the aroma fill my senses. I calmed myself for the first time that day and soaked in everything around me: the hum of conversations, scurrying people and rolling suitcases... the smells of cinnamon rolls and fast food. I didn't want to miss anything.
An hour later, a woman's voice interrupted my people-watching. “We will now begin boarding our first-class passengers.”
I smiled and turned to my husband. We gathered our belongings and headed down the passageway that would take me from a waiting area to a destination I never expected to see -- physically and metaphorically. Our tickets said row 1, seats A and B. We stored our bags in the overhead compartment, and before we could sit down, a stewardess asked if we wanted something to drink.
“I'd love a cup of coffee with cream and sugar,” I said. I wasn't going to pass up the chance to have a beverage while the plane was still on the ground. I was used to waiting well into a flight before seeing a flight attendant. In a short time, she appeared, holding a tray with pretty white cups and saucers trimmed in gold, fresh cream in a tiny matching pitcher, and little sugar cubes.
“Is there anything else I can get for you before takeoff?” she asked.
“This is fine for now, I said, feeling giddy.
I looked at the dainty cup and leaned on my husband’s broad shoulder. Sitting next to the man I loved, anticipating a wonderful trip, I could hardly absorb it. I reached for his hand and squeezed it to convey my gratitude. He hugged me, and I told myself: Remember this moment. Remember this feeling.
I settled down and looked out the window. My mind hit the rewind button: my younger self rummaging through other people's trash for cans and bottles on cold, dark mornings, just to get enough money for the day’s necessities.
Without warning, tears spilled down my cheeks.
As I sat in first-class, gazing out at silver wings, spoiled and pampered, an old sense of desperation stabbed my heart. How had I traveled from a trash-filled red wagon to a first-class airline cabin?