Eventually I slid down from the chair again and walked toward the large glass doors where people greeted arriving passengers. The crowd was thick, and I was quickly surrounded by legs, coats, and moving luggage. The noise from voices, wheels, and announcements felt like water closing over my head.
I stopped walking because I suddenly felt lost.
A man nearly collided with me before stopping himself. He looked down with surprise, as if he had discovered something that should not be standing alone.
“Hey there,” he said gently. “Where is your grown up?”
I did not answer because if I spoke I knew I would cry, and crying felt dangerous because it would mean the truth had finally arrived.
The man crouched down so that our eyes were level. He looked older, perhaps in his late fifties, with silver hair and thoughtful eyes that did not rush away. His coat looked plain and his shoes were scuffed, as if appearances did not matter much to him.
“What is your name?” he asked calmly.
I blinked several times. “Madison,” I whispered.
“Madison,” he repeated slowly, as if the name mattered deeply. “Alright Madison, are you lost or did someone leave you here?”