Marco Polo

When I thought about seeing Stick again in Rome, I imagined coming off the plane, with shining hair, and possibly a cute shoulder bag, and running towards Stick’s arms. I forgot a lot of little details, like dragging all my luggage with me (Baggage Girl in Beijing: °You are overweight° Meg: °No, all Americans look like this°), and the awful sleep deprivation, and the feeling that I was just about sick of looking at icons and trying to guess which corridor I was meant to be taking. In Arrivals, I realized our reunion was not going to go quite the way I’d imagined it, but I’d see Stick in a moment, and everything was about to fall into place. If only I could find him…

In my defense, he didn’t recognize me either.