Chapter Four - The Journey Begins

Well, I gave in because tată wanted to go to Romania more than anything-and I couldn't disappoint the person I loved most on the planet. Besides, it wouldn't be so bad. I'd only tell Nina and her mother about it once I returned.

     On July 6, I slept at Nina's house for the last time. Tată picked me up at six in the morning and drove north on I-75 toward Macon, Georgia-the only place where I had other relatives. My mother's older sister, Aunt Debbie, lived there with her husband, Ron, and their two sons, (Anthony age 15 and Christopher age 14) my only cousins. From there, Aunt Debbie would ride with us to the airport in Atlanta in tată's car and keep it until we returned.

     "I'm so glad you decided you would try to enjoy this trip," tată said after we passed the 'Welcome to Georgia' sign. I had slept in the passenger seat next to tată most of the two hundred miles to the border.

     "I guess it'll be cool to see another country." I yawned and stretched my arms as far as I could. "How did you get the tickets? Don't most people get them months ahead of time?"

     "John Fracker. He has an agent he uses in Romania. The agent usually waits to the last minute so he can get a better deal. Guest missionaries go over to John all the time. They've always made arrangements at the last minute. I've got the e-tickets in my bag."

     "How many planes will we take?"

     "Atlanta to Paris, France; Paris to Budapest, Hungary; and Budapest to Cluj." [that's pronounced Cloozh]

     "Three stops for three planes," tată continued. "Then from there we meet the Stoicas, rent a car, and Cousin Sandu will lead us to a motel in Teaca. [TYAH-kah]. That's only a few miles from the Gypsy village of Viile Tecii [VEE-leh TEH-chee] where the Stoicas live and where John Fracker is building a house for himself and one for Sandu's mother."

     "It'll take twenty hours to get there?"

     "Yes, once we leave Atlanta. And the trip's that short only because all our layovers are short. We'll need to do some hustling through the airports."

     I stared out the side window at the passing vegetation and wondered how many times visitors to our state expected to see a sudden change of scenery filled with palm trees and beaches once they left Georgia. I snickered at the thought as a hand patted my knee. I darted my eyes to tată and met his smile, which made me grow one.

     "This will be a great adventure, princess." He slipped his hand back on the steering wheel. "I'm so glad we'll spend so much time together … just you and me."

     He always made plenty of time for me, but this trip would be special. It would be just him and me most of the time. Too bad we had to share it with the Gypsies.

We arrived in Macon where we visited for just a little while. We had an evening flight to catch and another hundred miles to drive.

     Tată drove us to the Atlanta airport and parked. We grabbed our luggage and Aunt Debbie helped us carry it to the check-in line for Air France-but we only saw a single attendant when we arrived. He told us even though the e-ticket said we flew Air France, Delta issued it, and we had to check in at their counter. That's when I knew a trip filled with problems was about to happen.

     We arrived at the Delta check-in area and discovered forty people in line ahead of us.

     "Don't worry, princess. We have a full three hours before our plane takes off."

     We reached the counter half an hour later where a heavyset, young black woman stared at my passport for a long time.

     "I'm sorry, but I can't issue a boarding pass for your girl, Mr. Seata." Of course she said 'SEE-tuh'. At least she accented the right syllable.

     "What's the matter?" tată asked.

     I stared at the young woman and hope sprang up inside me. Maybe they wouldn't let me go, I thought. Tată would have to go without me, and I could stay with Aunt Debbie and my cousins in Macon. That would be better than traveling around for three weeks with Gypsies. Aunt Debbie left earlier to search for the carryon baggage x-ray station for us, so I could easily leave with her when she returned.

     The woman held out the piece of paper tată had printed that came from John Fracker over the Internet. "Your daughter's name is different on this e-ticket than it is on her passport."

     I strained my neck to sneak a peek, and sure enough the e-ticket read "Anita Seata".

     That's just great, I thought. She promoted me from "Soo-NEE-tuh SEE-tuh" to "Uh-NEE-tuh SEE-tuh".

     Tată chuckled. "Well, you can easily see it's an honest mistake. Her name is Sunita. Our agent wrote in Anita by mistake."

     The woman shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll need to get authorization."

     Tată's brow wrinkled like it always did when he got angry. "What do you mean 'authorization'?" He pointed to my passport lying open on the counter. "Can't you see it says Sunita there?"

     "I'm sorry, sir, but regulations only permit a mistake of two letters. Anything else and I need authorization."

     Tată stared at my passport. "But it is only two letters. One letter has replaced two." He threw out his fist with two fingers thrust up and pointed to each as he said the letters. "S - U. Two."

     The woman shook her head again. "It's two different letters replacing a third." She popped up three fingers. "S, U, and A. Three."

     Tată let out a grunt and scrunched his shoulders. "She's got a school ID. Do you want to see that?"

     "It won't help. The e-ticket is what's different."

     Tată pounded a fist on the counter. "But I don't have a daughter named Anita." He shoved a thumb toward me. "I've only got this one, and her name is Sunita. You see how simple it is?"

     "Tată," I said, tugging on his shirt sleeve. "I'm sure they can work it out. We still have two-and-a-half hours before takeoff." I looked at the woman. "What should we do about it?"

     The woman pulled the e-ticket back. "You could purchase another ticket in the correct name."

     "What?" tată squealed, his brow wrinkled up like the surface of a prune. "Do you know how much these tickets cost? Air travel isn't cheap anymore; and anyway, I won't be able to get a refund on the ticket in the wrong name." He leaned his head forward. "You know how you airlines are?"

     The woman puckered her lips and straightened them out again. "You'll need to have your agent call and make the name change directly to the airline."

     Tată smacked his head smoothing out his brow lines. "My agent is in Romania and they're seven hours ahead of us in time." He threw his hand off his forehead and glanced at his watch. His brow wrinkled up again. "It's six p.m. here and one in the morning there." He looked up and glared into her eyes. "Do you really think anyone in Romania will be awake now?"

     "Sir, I'm just telling you the things you can do." She pointed at me. "It was Anita that asked."

     "Sunita!" tată snapped. He looked around at the other travelers standing in line as they stared back at him. Then he lowered his voice. "Sunita, not Anita." He smacked his hand by his side. "The next time I fly Delta, I'll be sure to bring her birth certificate."

     I watched as the woman rolled her eyes. "Let me call and we'll see about getting authorization."

     She called and stepped away to talk-probably so we couldn't listen in. I yanked tată's arm. "Tată, it's okay. You go. I'll go back with Aunt Debbie and-"

     "No, Suni. No! That's not acceptable." He bounced his finger off the counter several times. "We paid money for you to go and you're going."

     I grabbed his hand and eased it by his side keeping hold of it. "I love you, tată."

     He hung his head, paused, and shook it several times. "You're right, Suni. I shouldn't get so upset. You know I hate incompetence. If a person works at a job, they should know how to do it, but that isn't always the case." He kissed the top of my head. I looked up at him and smiled. "You can tell she's new at her job. Even if it's true, you never tell a customer they need to repurchase what they've already paid for."

     The woman called for a supervisor, and we got nowhere with her. Each of them called other people, and the supervisor wandered off and returned twice more. We stood there until eight o'clock, a half hour before takeoff. Tată argued with the black lady again, and when the supervisor passed by behind her, she pointed at tată. "Issue them the pass."

     Tată slammed down his open palm. I glanced around and spied several people in the line next to us staring at him. "You could have done that two hours ago!"

     "Tată?"

     "Yes, princess, I know. Keep cool."

     They issued my boarding pass, but it still read "Anita".

     Passing through the x-ray machines, the man who took my carryon bag and purse and placed it on the conveyor belt pointed at my waist. "Take off your shoes and remove your belt, please."

     I glanced at my waist and then at the man. "But my belt holds up my skirt."

     Tată leaned over my shoulder and glared at the man. "Is that really necessary?"

     "All belts must go through the x-ray machine."

     "A belt is not carryon luggage," tată snapped.

     The man frowned. "The girl can hold up her skirt with either hand."

     "This is ridiculous," tată said.

     I flipped off my slip-ons, pulled my belt through their waist hoops, and grabbed a handful of skirt waist. The man snatched the belt and shoes, dropped them into a plastic tub, and plopped it onto the moving conveyor belt. He pointed to a metal-detecting archway, and I walked through. Nothing beeped, so I headed toward the conveyor belt to wait for my bag, belt, and shoes. A woman thrust out a wand and stopped me.

     "Step over here, miss."

     "Now, what?" I heard tată say from the other side of the metal-detecting arch. "Aren't you supposed to do that after she gets her stuff?"

     The woman guided me aside and I struggled to keep hold of my skirt waist. "She your daughter?"

     "No," tată said. I stretched my neck around the side of the woman and gawked at tată. "She's obviously a terrorist."

     The man beside tată slapped a hand on tată's shoulder. "That's something that shouldn't be joked about. You could get into serious trouble."

     I waved my free hand. "It's all right, tată. It'll only take a minute."

     The woman pulled me upright and pointed her wand at the floor before me. "Feet apart."

     Spreading my feet apart, my hand slipped off my skirt waist and fell several inches. I slapped my hand against my abdomen trapping it and threw my feet farther apart, planting the other hand on the skirt as well.

     "Sorry," I said. "They made me take off my belt." I pulled my skirt up, and grabbed a fistful of waistband.

     The woman pointed at my feet again.

     "Sorry," I said, bringing them together a little more. She ran her wand against my sides and legs, in front, behind, and on the insides of my legs. Then she pointed her wand where my things had passed through on the conveyer belt and others had pushed them aside to reach their own. "Get your things."

     I waddled over and grabbed my skirt belt. A lady pulled alongside me.

     "You're in the way, little girl. Can't you just get your stuff and move out?"

     I lifted my belt and pulled up my skirt. "I need to get this on first. If I let my hands go to pick up my stuff-"

     She darted around me and snatched her purse and other loose items in a tray. I stared at tată who waited with his carryons several feet away. I shrugged my shoulders, slipped on my belt, and grabbed my things.

     Scurrying to tată, I grinned. "Sorry. Everything seems to be happening to me. I guess I just wasn't meant to go on this trip."

     He groaned, spun around, and stormed off.

     That wasn't a very smart thing to say, I thought. What did I think he'd reply? 'You're right, princess, so why don't you go on back to Aunt Debbie and I'll see you in three weeks.' Dream on.

     At the gate, a flight attendant kept glancing from my boarding pass to my passport and back.

     "I'm sorry, but your name doesn't match the boarding pass." Then she pointed to a counter thirty feet away. "You must go over there and get authorization."

     Tată, who had already gone through, sprang forward. "Authorization again? We just got authorization at the first check-in counter. It took two hours, but we got it. How do you think we got here?"

     He lost his argument. I had to go to the counter and ask a man to escort me to the gate and give the okay for me to get on the plane.

     Swaggering toward the gangplank, tată glanced over his shoulder at the woman who caused us the latest delay. "See if we ever fly Delta again."

     "Have a nice day," she replied without a smile.

     Tata stopped and poked himself in the chest. "Don't tell me what to do."

     "Tată," I scolded. "Be nice."

     On the plane we stowed our carryon luggage in the overhead compartments and under the seats in front of us. Then I caught tată staring at my passport.

     "Tată, did they mess up my passport, or are you just wishing you'd named me Anita?"

     "No, not at all. I'm just stunned. I'm in shock. I'm in awe. I'm mesmerized … hypnotized … proselytized. I'm-"

     I couldn't keep from grinning. I liked seeing him in good humor again. "Okay, tată, you can stop anytime."

     He turned the passport so I could see my picture. "This is the most beautiful girl in the world."

     My face grew warm. "Tată, stop it."

     He held out the passport and stared at my picture. "I mean, who could say 'no' to such a lovely face … a face so beautiful it could launch a thousand ships."

     I knew what he was getting at. We played this history game quite often. "Tată, I'm not Helen of Troy. I'm not beautiful enough to start a war."

     I giggled and stared out the window. He liked me so much it made it easy for me to like myself. I turned back around and found him staring at our e-tickets. "Tată, I'm glad nothing else can go wrong here in Atlanta."

     Seconds later he smacked himself on the forehead. "That stupid cow. That stupid, stupid cow."

     I eased a hand on his arm. "Tată, you've always told me not to call people names."

     He shoved the tickets at me. "Well, I think I can make an exception in this case." I eased the tickets out of his hand and stared at them as he continued. "She didn't issue us a boarding pass for the Budapest to Cluj connection. Now, we get to do the 'name game' all over again in Hungary."

     And then a very long and difficult trip to my grandfather's homeland began-with a lot of trouble waiting for us at the Charles DeGaule Airport in Paris, France-our next stop.