“Don’t forget,” I reminded my husband as we boarded the train bound for the main terminal, “I want to stop and see Greg the Gargoyle again.”
“Why? You’ve already done that.”
“But he didn’t really talk much last time. I want to see if he’ll say more this time. I’ve got questions for him.”
Wayne groaned, but not as loud as he did when we rounded the corner headed to the car rental shuttles and I spotted him again.
There he was. The talking gargoyle of Denver International Airport. Greg.
He hadn’t moved since the last time I’d seen him a couple of years ago. He was still perched in the baggage claim area.
And like it did that first time I saw him, my heart skipped a beat the moment I spied him.
“Just give me a minute.”
Wayne rolled his eyes and headed outside, leaving me alone with my gargoyle fascination.
“Greg? Hello? Will you talk to me this time?”
Silence.
“Did you miss all the people last year? What did you do with this big empty airport you had all to yourself? Did you fly out and pay a visit to the Blue Mustang?”
Nothing.
“Did you wonder where everybody went? Was it too quiet for you? Are you happy things are starting to get back to normal?”
No response. No glimmer of movement.
“Why are you ignoring me, Greg? Why won’t you talk to me? How do I get you to talk?”
Meanwhile, my husband is getting annoyed that I’m goofing off and has returned to give me a dirty look to hurry up.
Why? I don’t know. It’s not like we had anywhere to be by a particular time. To paraphrase the Simon & Garfunkel song “Feelin’ Groovy”: Slow down, you move too fast, buddy. You got to make the moment last.
Plus, don’t rush my time with Greg. Who knows when we’ll fly into DIA again. I need to savor every moment I can with him, even if they’re all silent.
But speaking of looks, my husband wasn’t the only one giving them to me. I registered the funny looks from other passengers passing by. The raised eyebrows. The making sure to move over even more than the suggested socially distanced six feet. I’m sure a lady pleading with the gargoyle to speak to her did look bizarre.
Damn you, Greg!
Or is it all part of your plan? The more aloof you are, the more you play the strong silent type, the more you know much it intrigues me?
Who knows? All I know is I want to hear his wisecracks again, but he won’t oblige me and now I’m lamenting my unrequited love affair with Greg the Gargoyle.
Check-In
What would you ask Greg?
Courtney Mroch is a globe-trotting restless spirit who’s both possessed by wanderlust and the spirit of adventure, and obsessed with true crime, horror, the paranormal, and weird days. Perhaps it has something to do with her genes? She is related to occult royalty, after all. Marie Laveau, the famous Voodoo practitioner of New Orleans, is one of her ancestors. (Yes, really! As explained here.) That could also explain her infatuation with skeletons.
Speaking of mystical, to learn how Courtney channeled her battle with cancer to conjure up this site, check out HJ’s Origin Story.
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Greg, I know you listen to Musak all day. What’s your fave remix?
Oh you come up with THE best questions!!!! BRILLIANT!! If I see him again, I’ll try asking yours. Maybe that’s the trouble. I’m not asking good enough ones!