The Miami International Airport in Florida originally opened in the 1920’s. However, originally it was called Miami City Airport and its size was a mere hundred and sixteen acres. Today, the airport is almost a city within itself, complete with almost non-stop high traffic, twenty-four a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.
Being a typical August day, it had been partly cloudy, humid and ninety-five degrees. Yet, despite the outside heat, the instant Scandinavian Airlines flight landed and the overhead PA announced all passengers were allowed to exit, Alexander was ready to go.
Yet, when he attempted to rise – a loud “pop” resounded from his left knee.
Josefina immediately eyeballed at him, then slowly raised her glance away from the source of the unexpected sound and smiled.
“I am so happy to finally be in Miami,” she said, reaching for the compartment above so she could grab their carry-ons. “But are you sure you’re going to be able to make it to … ah-h-h, what do they call it … Customs?”
Alexander chuckled and took his dark blue case from her right hand. “Of course. Are you expecting trouble, Sis?”
Josefina scrunched her nose. “No. But it seems you might. Your knee sounded like you’re getting old man’s disease.”
Alexander's eyes narrowed as looked at his sister. “Old man’s disease? What in the world are you talking about? I don’t have Alzheimer’s, Sis, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be in my knees.”
Josefina looked back and for a second, ignored his comment. “From what I just heard, it sounds like you’ve been paid a visit from Arthur.”
“Arthur. Who’s Arthur? Who are you talking about? We don’t have any relatives named Arthur – and even if we supposedly did, why could he come to visit and what does that have to do with my knee popping?”
Josefina patted her brother’s shoulder and released a small laugh. “I’m not talking about a who, Alex. It’s a what.”
Alexander’s eyes rolled upward. “A what?”
“Yes,” Josefina confirmed with a nod. She appeared to be quite calm as if this specific topic should be common knowledge.
Alexander contemplated his sister’s comments and the two of the proceeded toward the front of the plane, along with a couple of hundred other travelers.
Forward movement was rather slow, like one or two steps ever five seconds, so it was obvious he wasn’t going to have quickly rack his brain in order to resolve her puzzle.
So he didn’t.
“Do you have it yet?” Josefina asked him after a minute had passed.
But, before Alexander had a chance to answer, directly behind him, a thirty-something female passenger suddenly appeared to have acquired a bad case of the giggles and raised her left hand to her mouth in a futile attempt to contain them.
“Arthur,” she said, interrupting when Alexander shook his head no in reply to his sister’s question. “Don’t you get it? And do please forgive me for getting involved in something that is clearly none of my business. But I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. The answer to your sister’s question is so obvious; I can’t help but provide the answer. She’s is talking about arthritis.”
Alexander’s cheeks quickly redden. “Arthritis,” he repeated, almost shouting. “What in the world would make you think I have arthritis, Sis? I’m only eighteen and I can assure you, eighteen-year-olds don’t get arthritis.”
Josefina looked at her brother and gave him a deadpan stare. “They don’t? Wow. That’s news to me. That’s certainly not what I was taught in my health class. Our instructor, Mr. Pedersen, told us anyone can get arthritis at any age - even during adolescent.”
Oh, really? Alexander wanted to take a stand and fold his arms across his chest. But, he found it nearly impossible to do since he was holding a small case while standing in a crowded aisle. Of all the times for Josefina to become technical.
When finally able to get off the jet, both Alexander and Josefina appreciated the warm smile and handshake provided by the pilot as he thanked them for choosing Scandinavian Airlines. The flight, including the bit over an hour layover in Chicago, had taken nearly fourteen hours. And, even though it had been both pleasant and uneventful, it was still long and tiring – even for a couple of teens.
“So how do we get to Customs from here?” Josefina asked, scanning the concourse around them.
“I’m not really sure,” Alexander said as they both took a couple of steps toward the terminal’s center aisle. “This airport’s a bit larger than I expected.”
On Josefina’s right, the concourse was lined with numerous dark gray, plastic seats and an untold number of boarding gates – each symmetrically arranged on either side of the terminal. To her left, a mirror image existed, except for one item – a large LED sign standing about fifty feet away. It displayed an ever-changing list of the day’s departures and arrivals.
“Are we lost?” she asked, exhibiting a subtle frown.
Alexander took a quick look around and was about to answer, yes, when a young, curly-haired, female Delta airline attendant flashing a toothy smile interrupted.
“You two appear to need assistance. Could I be of any help?”
“Most likely, yes,” Alexander said, turning to face her. “My sister and I just arrived from Copenhagen and we’re not really sure how to get to Customs?”
“That’s no problem,” the attendant replied, revealing another oversize grin before pointing toward the Arrival/Departure sign. “This terminal is for international flights only. Just follow the walkway about two hundred feet past this sign, and you’ll see the line for Customs. … You can’t miss it.”
At least that’s good news, Alexander thought, while hoping their exiting the airport with their ‘special’ luggage would be just as easy. “Thanks, Ma’am. Please have a great day.”