Coming back from the Netherlands, I was on my way out of the terminal at the Copenhagen airport. I was in a mad rush to catch the train, trying to make my journey back home to my homestay in Gevninge as short as possible. A woman in a black flared mini skirt and a loose blue sweater looked absolutely lost and distraught, stuck in front of the no reentrance sign that lies in front of baggage claim.
Her eyes were outlined with blurred mascara and she just kept saying, “Baggage? Baggage?”
No one stopped to help her.
“Do you need help?” I asked her.
“Need help. Don’t I look like I need help? I need lots of help. I am so lost. This airport is so big and stupid and I can’t find my bag.”
“Okay, well baggage claim is through these doors. I can take you there.”
She felt bad that I was taking my time for her but it didn’t matter because I would have to walk through baggage claim to get out of the terminal anyway.
She was apparently so worried because she was coming to Copenhagen to win back her boyfriend and according to her she “looked like shit” and she didn’t know where her bag was.
She was beyond grateful that I showed her where to go and waited with her until her bags came, which I didn’t really understand since it felt like I wasn’t doing much.
She held my hand and said, “You help me now and then someday you will be lost and someone will help you. That is my religion. I believe in that. My name is Maria. What is yours?”
For the first time in a long time I introduced myself as Adriana, my full name.
“Well, Adriana, I release you. Thank you. You can go.”
I walked out of the terminal into the crowds of people awaiting loved ones in the grand and sleek lobby outside. Like always there were families waving the Danish flag. A man stood holding a single red rose which if I’m not mistaken was for Maria.