The sky is forever

Police were conducting random checks on cars entering Stockholm Airport. It was the kind of scene that made any driver’s heart beat a little faster. But I was absolutely calm, watching from the hotel window. It was early morning at the end of May. High in the bluish sky, only faint wisps of white cloud remained, as if someone had hurriedly wiped the rest away. I wasn’t in a hurry—my flight was at 12:30 p.m.
Looking once more, with sympathy, at the drivers having trouble outside, I leisurely walked to the restaurant for breakfast. I didn’t want to fast and break the pleasure of so many appealing dishes waiting for me at the buffet stations. After a one-and-a-half-hour breakfast, I had to play table tennis to work up enough energy to carry my luggage to the airport terminal, just 100 feet from the hotel. I walked slowly, making several long stops, as if time didn’t exist for me. Time existed for people jumping out of taxis, and then rushing to the terminal.
After entering the terminal, I looked at the departure board, and something invisible squeezed my heart slightly — the time of my flight to Helsinki had changed.  Instead of departing at 12.30, there was a delay of thirty minutes. That meant my connection in Helsinki had shrunk from three hours to two and a half. I didn’t hurry to the check-in counter, but the sound of my suitcase wheels echoed through the terminal.
Crazy people—why do they want to check in so early? I thought, looking at the crowd there.
Later, at the gate, I walked back and forth. I tried to sit down, but something inside me made me stand up and start walking again. After walking past the departure screen dozens of times I stopped, like bumping into a wall. The delay had changed to one hour!
How is it possible to eat chips with such terrible noise? I thought, looking at a woman sitting in the front row of the gate waiting area.
In Helsinki, I rushed to find the gate for my connecting flight. My jogging stopped when I found myself at the end of a long queue for passport control. The queue moved slowly, like a monstrous anaconda. I wanted to run, but I could only take a few small steps each minute.
That is all. Just fifteen minutes until my gate closes. My flight will leave Europe without me, I thought.
“Who is flying to New York?” I suddenly heard a woman in uniform ask as she approached our snake-like line.
I rushed to her like a lost child who had found his mother again.
She led me and several other passengers to a passport control booth reserved for travelers at risk of missing their flights.
Within minutes, I reached my gate. Boarding was already well underway, but I still had time to walk over to the glass wall and look up. The sky above Helsinki was the same as it had been over Stockholm, and suddenly I was calm again.