Two Backpacks

Once upon a time there was a story with a beginning, maybe a middle, but definitely no ending.
With a backpack each there were many hugs, kisses and a few tears as we said farewell to those we spend time with and now, may not have the opportunity for quite awhile.
'Could an American Airlines staff member please come to the service desk for passenger assistance please?'
There are many moments we will miss, particular those spent with friends and family. Sitting down to a meal, a long conversation leading to a glass of wine and maybe even a game of cards. This will certainly remain one of our loves in life and fingers crossed we can share this with others on our journey. 
Now, when we say a story has a beginning, maybe that is a little misleading. Every story has a beginning, the question for us is how far back would you like to go to choose the beginning of this story. Maybe we'll start with hurtling through the sky, but we promise if you keep reading, we go back further than that.
'Could an American Airlines staff member please come to the service desk for passenger assistance please?'
14 hours cocooned on a plane has the ability to remind you how little you know at the skill of meditation. Despite the attempt to focus on a single point, to slow your breathing and allow it to go deep through every muscle it could never compete against the bone numbing steel rod that a well worn cushion seat pretended to cover. The best thing about a 14hr flight is it is not a 15hr flight.
As we walked into the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles Airport we rehearsed our story and began the lifeless conga line for American Immigration. Our earlier arrivals snaked their way over the horizon and back around to conveniently pass by the late arrivals, I imagine to provide an ounce of optimism that the line was in fact moving and not a mirage. It was while we took one step, paused, took another step, paused, that we heard over the sound system a request for an American Airlines staff member to report to the service desk. We weren't sure what for, but it was the only sound other than the pitter and patter of thousands of tired feet on an worn linoleum floor. Despite the failed meditation techniques attempted on the flight, there was greater success to find a rhythm in our conga line. We did question the length of this line many times, particularly as we passed the hundred's of automatic passport machines that if it weren't for the A4 paper stuck to the front saying "Not Working" did suggest they were far more efficient than the 10 Immigration Offices sitting in the distance.
'For a third time, could an American Airlines staff member please come to the service desk for passenger assistance please?'
Needless to say, another 90 minutes flew away as we tumbled along with all of the Non-US Citizens attempting entry to this country. As we came upon our final turn, a moment of distraction caught our eye. An elderly lady dressed in uniform, waving her arms running down the side of our conga line calling out loud, "Sir! Sir!... The American Airline Attendant is at the desk sir! They are at the desk sir!"
We walked to the Immigration Officer waving his hand, we explained our reason for travel, he took our picture and scanned our fingerprints. We entered the country and together we thought, everything had worked out. The Staff Member was at the desk for Sir, others had joined the conga line to ensure it never broke and we were on our way out of the Airport and into the hot, hazy hustle of Los Angeles.