Reunion at Pearson

Reunion at Pearson

The Green Man and the White Murano

The Boeing, a gleaming behemoth of metal and promise, descended upon Toronto’s Pearson Airport, its wheels kissing the tarmac with a gentle screech. DJ, swept along in the tide of disembarking passengers, clutched his modest luggage, a tangible link to the life he’d left behind in Sydney.

The fluorescent-lit corridors of the airport stretched before him, a labyrinth of modernity that left him feeling unmoored. Each step echoed with the weight of anticipation, the familiar streets of his youth now replaced by this sprawling monument to progress.

As he emerged from the terminal, the crisp Canadian air nipped at his cheeks, a sharp reminder of his new reality. With trembling fingers, DJ fished his phone from his pocket; each ring an eternity as he waited to hear Nimal’s voice, a beacon of familiarity in this sea of strangeness.

“I have arrived, my friend,” DJ spoke into the device, his accent a melody of distant shores. “Look for me in a green hoodie with an orange hat.” The words felt peculiar on his tongue; a costume donned for this grand reunion.

Before him, a sea of vehicles churned, a symphony of urban similarity to the rhythmic order of home. DJ’s eyes scanned the throng, seeking a white Nissan, its custom license plate whispered of shared history: “Malla.”

Nimal’s voice crackled through the phone again, “I see you, brother. Stand tall. I am approaching.”

And so DJ, a green-clad figure, waited amidst the concrete and steel, poised on the threshold of a fifty-year reunion. The white Nissan Murano emerged from the fray, gliding to a stop before him under the looming presence of pillar four, having travelled fifteen thousand five hundred kilometres.

From the vehicle emerged Nimal, his face a map of the years that had passed, yet his eyes alight with the same warmth DJ remembered from their youth. Behind him stepped Kanthi, Nimal’s wife, a woman DJ had heard of but never met. Her presence was expected, her smile welcoming.

Kanthi, understanding the weight of nearly five decades of separation between the two men, smiled gently and gestured towards the passenger seat. “Please,” she said, soft yet firm, “sit with Nimal. You have much to catch up on.” Her presence was not just expected but crucial in this moment of reconnection.

As DJ slid into the passenger seat, he felt the years melt away, the bewildering airport building around him fading into the background. In this small space, a fragment of his past had collided with his present, and the future stretched out before them, ripe with possibility. Once a chaotic setting, the airport now served as a mere backdrop to the profound moment unfolding in the car.

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