As we check out of the country inn where we’ve been staying to see fall colors, I laugh at my husband Sean’s wardrobe choice. He jokes that he won’t wear tennis shoes with his jeans because he hasn’t “given up,” and yet here he is sporting a Captain America t-shirt. It fits with his crisply-shaven jaw and Dentyne smile, but he’s 57 years old, y’all!
As we drive to the airport, I reflect on the last few days in the countryside with “Vacation Sean.” Free from the pressures of work life, he morphs into another being. He leaps out from behind corners to scare me. He bends over a little too much on purpose to expose butt crack. “Anybody got a quarter?” he jokes.
And he buys strangers drinks. One such stranger in a country dive bar insisted that Sean was military. Sean shared he is a police officer (which actually is quite the euphemism for the work he does). The tall, bald man with a pointy long beard boomed back, “Well, I’m a felon!” which we also think under-sold his true story. But, the police chief and the former inmate had some good laughs and almost became Facebook friends, save my interference.
On the way to the airport, Sean does what he always does on long car rides – dramatically presents his hand to me to hold. After a few minutes, he’ll kiss my hand. Every time.
As we check our bags at the airport, we start to hear loud noises. Soon it becomes clear that a man is yelling at his wife. It’s hard to make out exactly what he is saying, but the word “bitch” is audible. The noise of the fracas elevates and falls. But, as I turn to look at Sean, I only see tension rising.
I see his eagle-focus stare. The ropy muscles in his neck contract, and yet he is very still. His muscular chest is following his steady but quickened breaths “Do you need to do something?” I ask. After 36 years together, we’ve been in this exact situation before.
Perhaps because he looks like Captain America, a woman approaches him and asks, “Did you see that? He almost pushed her down the escalator!”
More violent yelling, and we hear a child start screaming for the first time. Simultaneously, we both heave out some form of “Oh no!” and I start to cry. Sean, just keeps watch. “Let’s just stand over here for a bit,” he says. Not only is Sean a protector, he was, at one time, that same scared child. He assures me he will step in the instant it’s needed.
When a police officer finally arrives, Sean introduces himself, again, as a “police officer” and offers a summary of the situation. The officer thanks him for the information and also for his service, and Sean replies, “Be safe.”
As we get to the security line and Sean takes off his fancy shoes, I’m actually glad he hasn’t given up on dressing like a superhero on vacations, and I’m grateful for the invisible cape he signed on to wear at all times.
