I felt a pang of sadness watching the farms and fields of Kansas shrink outside my window as the plane rose into the sky.<\/p>\n
My visit to my hometown of Wichita from college in San Diego had been painfully short.<\/p>\n
My cousin had passed away, and the cheapest flight I could get to attend his funeral routed me through Minneapolis, Detroit and Memphis—22 hours of travel for only 13 short hours at home.<\/p>\n
Just enough time to pay my respects and see my family, but not enough to even call any of my friends, let alone see them.<\/p>\n
I didn’t have the money to return to Wichita often, and I missed my friends back home, especially my best friend, Sherry, and our crew from church.<\/p>\n
We’d sung in the choir, gone roller skating, worked in youth groups together ever since middle school. A trip home without seeing them, especially when I needed comfort so badly, just felt incomplete.<\/p>\n
I walked slowly through the Detroit airport to my connecting flight in a desolate mood. Yet another long layover, dozing fitfully in waiting-area chairs and eating bad airport food.<\/p>\n
“Carlota!” I heard someone shout behind me.<\/p>\n