We were standing at the gate counter at Boston Logan. She held her boarding pass in one hand and pressed her worn brown leather purse against her chest with the other.
I stood behind her with both carry-on bags and a cup of coffee that had already gone cold.
The gate agent checked the ticket.
Then she looked at Grandma.
Then at me.
“Ma’am, you’re currently in first class. Seat 3A.”
“I know,” Grandma replied. “But I’d like 34A instead, if it’s available.”
The agent stared at her for a second before typing.
“It is available. But if you voluntarily move to economy, we can’t refund the fare difference.”
“That’s perfectly fine.”
I stepped forward.
“Grandma, what are you doing?”
She didn’t answer me.
A printer whirred behind the counter.
The agent handed her a new boarding pass.
Grandma studied it for several seconds before carefully slipping it into the
