Chapter 9: Flying Home

Everyone did the best they could to settle into their seats on the plane.

Eventually all of us would find seats, but none of us would be settled.

As it was a Southwest flight, folks got to pick where they could sit. As we were some of the last ones to board, we had to sit in the front.

Laptop open, I hurried to check the results from my seat before our plane departed from the gate – and was promptly scolded by an unsavory flight attendant for not paying attention to the presentation on how to administer the Heimlich Maneuver in the event of a emergency water landing over the Rocky Mountains. The guy sitting behind me tapped my shoulder and asked me what I saw. There was no update. He asked me if I was a volunteer for Obama, I told him I was. He was, too. He was stationed in Jefferson County, south of Denver. Another person chimed in. She and her friend were stationed in Denver proper. Did I have the results in Arapahoe County? How about Denver County? People on the plane began to shout out the counties they had worked in. Douglas? Elbert? Adams? The whole plane cheered as I snuck in one final minute with my laptop, and one by one I announced the results from each county. There was no formal announcement yet, but Colorado would most certainly be blue. The flight attendant did not appear pleased. I could not tell if it was because of the results or because I still had not properly turned off and safely stored my electronic device.

I soon realized there were conversations of exciting tone and tenor taking place all over the plane. It was buzzing. Ninety percent of the plane had to be volunteers. All of us were from the Bay Area. Two middle-aged women from Piedmont. A married couple from Alameda, both of whom were social workers. A couple who had been married for forty years from San Francisco. A team of Internet co-workers from San Jose. A father and his college-aged son…. And we were just one plane, coming from one state. None of us had ever met or even seen each other before, but together on this night, we would share a piece of history that we had worked for and achieved collectively.

I asked the friendlier looking of the two flight attendants for a cranberry vodka. She had picked up on the energy on the plane and the content of our conversations. She was as excited as we were and enjoyed listening in. Although I only remember ordering one, my glass was never empty and I don’t think I was ever asked to pay. I asked if the pilot could radio the ground and get an update. She said she couldn’t promise anything but she would try.

Still buzzing, still glowing, together we waited, and continued to share stories.

At some point over Utah our friendly flight attendant returned from the cockpit, smiled, leaned over and said one all important sentence.

In an instant I was on my feet.

I faced the entire plane, cupped my hands in front of my mouth so as to amplify my announcement for all on board to hear:

“John McCain just conceded!”

An eruption – cheers, applause, excitement, joy – reverberated back to me.

The flight had two parts, two acts, two different energies. The first was anticipation, excitement, exhaustion and eagerness to find out how it all had panned out. The second was sheer jubilation, excitement, amazement, shock, some disbelief and a lot of euphoria. People seemed to be breathing deeply, smiling uncontrollably, crying without realization or care. The fasten seatbelts light was most definitely off. People were hugging people they had never met before as if it was an involuntary motor response.

“President Barack Obama.”

People kept saying this to each other – as if in greeting – as if in an effort to make it tangible. Shaking their head. Smiling. Laughing. Crying. Breathing. We were 30,000 feet off the ground. Had this really just happened down on earth below us?

We landed safely, walking through the same gate my friends and I had entered just four days earlier. The place we returned to was somehow different form the one we had departed from.

We all gathered for a picture.

…I believed if I did everything I could, if I dedicated every inch I had to give to this all important cause, there would be other people – people who I never met and would never meet, people just like the ones who filled the streets of Denver – making the same commitment and dedicating themselves to the same cause, and we would win.

It didn’t happen like I had envisioned. But I do believe that on that night, on my return flight home, I was given a gift I never expected. I had long believed that I was not alone in my efforts and commitment. On this flight, on this historic night, I had the opportunity to meet and embrace some of the very people who confirmed this belief.

It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.

Continue To Chapter 10