Born to fly was born to fly, or how the victims were a closet

Our Valeria Markelova is again on the road, in suitcases, on a journey. In this regard, she remembered the incidents that can lie in wait for each of us. While Lera flies to where there will be a story for readers of “MK in Karelia”, we read how she came to life like this.

Hours before the train, I was stuck in my own toilet. Yeah, yeah, four walls where you don't usually expect a catch.

To be honest, it’s time for me to start collecting my almanac of curious and not-so-crazy cases that fill my life on the eve of important flights or trips.

I will tell you one of those that you want to forget, and at the same time it is impossible to get out of your head. It stuck in memory like a scratch that aches even years later.

Moscow. Sheremetyevo. The last direct flight to New York from Russia is announced. Our children and I are in line for passport control and luggage.

I.D.s, visas, P.R.s, everything's fine.

“Please, your certificate of vaccination with American drugs?” – with a nasty smile says the employee of the airport. That sounds like a sentence from her mouth.

- I don't have one. But there is a passport of a covid who has been ill, with the same nasty smile I say in response (I wanted to show my tongue, but temporarily abstained).

“We are not sure that it will be valid on the territory of the United States,” the employee continues, slightly bowing her head, as if she herself doubts, but is obliged to say these words.

- I specified! Here's the consulate statement and the translation certificate, and I'm handing out a file of documents. Fingers are shaking.

But on the official website there is no information about the passports of patients, you need a certificate of vaccination. Unfortunately, we cannot put you on a flight. Don't hold the line.

Kids are hysterical. Martin cries sobbing, Mars clings to my hand like I'm the only support in this fucking world.

It is.

But I'm in a desperate panic. Life is falling apart. I wish I knew then that this was just the beginning.

- No, girl, you don't understand! Us. You do. Sit. This flight. Here are the documents - there is everything you need to enter the country. Who's in charge here? Call me!

I don't know how threatening I looked, but they called the head of the room on the radio.

For the next 20 minutes, I screamed, explained, begged.

Without shame, without pride, but as a mother who must take her children to a place where everything is planned in advance, where they are expected, where there is at least some plan.

He said there would be no more flights. That this is our only chance.

But the answer was, "You can't.".

I called my husband, that lawyer, someone else. Chain of calls, whispers, tense voices, short phrases..

And each time the same result: "Sorry, but we don't know how to help. We can put you on a plane at our own risk, but you're just deployed and deported back.

Each "not" beat like a stone.

Everything and everything talked about staying with their sons in Russia. Accept defeat. Trying to start a different life.

I don’t think I could have handled everything in the state I was in.

We had to get on that flight.

The landing was coming to an end. There is almost no one left on the corridor.

Only rare employees checking empty counters, and a couple of late ones who apparently also tried to argue with the system.

I looked at the scoreboard: departure time was inexorably approaching.

And at that moment, when it seemed that it was over, Marcel suddenly came to the front desk, knelt down and asked the girl to let us on board the plane, which even the most callous person in the world would do.

- You don't understand, our dad's waiting for us. Please, we really need to go to New York.

After 10 minutes, we were staring into the window.

Now it is fashionable to write that every event always has a year later. Much more has passed since then. But I am still torn apart by the memories of that day.

Now I'm flying to the place where all this tangled tangle of events began.

The place where I decided to board that flight.

I had a choice. He always was. If I didn't want to, I wouldn't have sat down.

For five years, I've been tearing my prison apart. Step by step.

Freedom costs me dearly, but isn't it worth it?

Well, the door to the destroyed closet had to be replaced.

Earlier it was reported that they hide miniskirts.