Twenty Minutes
I rarely write long pieces. If something can be said simply, I would rather not say more than necessary.
But this story was worth keeping.
It happened on Qixi, the Chinese festival of lovers, which made the timing almost too perfect. Some people spend a lifetime wishing they could be together and never get the chance. Others are fortunate enough to share a life and quietly begin to treat that as a given.
It isn’t.
What is twenty minutes?
In the span of a lifetime, almost nothing.
And yet, for someone else, twenty minutes can be the distance between an ordinary afternoon and a final goodbye.
We had planned the day well in advance. On August 5, we would drive from home to Vancouver, enjoy five hours on the road through the mountains, then catch a 10:50 p.m. flight to the East Coast of the United States for the start of another adventure.
As it turned out, the adventure began before we had properly left home.
The moment we started the car, the dashboard warned us that the key fob battery was dying. Not exactly what you want to see before a long drive. Fortunately, there was a dealership along the way. Fifteen minutes later, with a new battery in the key, we were back on the road.
Apart from a sudden shower, the drive was beautiful. Summer in the mountains has its own way of making a highway feel like part of the landscape—wildflowers along the roadside, deep green trees, open sky.
Then the traffic stopped.
A line of cars stretched ahead of us.
On a highway like this, that usually means an accident. The only question is how bad.
At first, everyone stayed in their cars. Then the afternoon sun began testing our patience. Doors opened. People stepped outside. Someone walked a dog. Someone else went for a run. The highway slowly turned into a pedestrian zone.
The people in the car ahead of us had bicycles with them, so one of them rode off to see what was happening.
I checked the time. Seven hours before our flight. Less than two hours to Vancouver airport.
Surely we would be fine.
The cyclist eventually returned. The accident was less than ten kilometres ahead, he said, and the scene looked like a battlefield. Wreckage everywhere. Debris across the road. He thought he had seen blood.
The mood changed immediately.
Not long afterward, the traffic began to move. For about two minutes.
Then police started turning vehicles around and directing them back the way they had come. Some drivers stayed parked on the shoulder, apparently determined to wait it out.
A police officer farther ahead was holding up his fingers as he spoke to each driver. At first I thought he was indicating seven o’clock.
Tight, but possible.
Then I saw helicopters overhead. Ambulances were trying to work their way through the gridlock. And the officer was no longer holding up seven fingers.
Now it was five.
Five what?
Something inside me said: Stop guessing. Go ask.
The officer looked pale and exhausted.
“Five hours,” he told me.
Fuel had spilled across the highway. No traffic would be allowed through until the road was safe.
“But I have a flight to catch.”
He looked genuinely sorry. There might be another route, he said. I should ask the traffic controller nearby.
The controller explained the detour. His accent was strong and the details came quickly, but I caught the essentials: drive two hours back, find Highway 8, connect to Highway 1, then drive another five hours.
I looked in both directions.
Wait five hours, then drive two.
Or turn around now and drive seven.
Mathematically, there wasn't much difference.
But another thought had already taken over: Turn around. Find an airport. Maybe there is another flight to Vancouver.
Then came the counterarguments.
Maybe the road will reopen early.
Maybe the flight will be delayed.
Maybe there won't be any seats from the other airport.
Maybe turning around will turn out to be the stupidest thing we could do.
But staying where we were guaranteed one thing: we would miss our flight.
Leaving gave us no guarantee at all.
It simply gave us a possibility.
So we turned around.
Sometimes “doing what you can and leaving the rest to fate” sounds beautifully philosophical. In reality, it can look like driving very fast through the mountains while trying not to get a speeding ticket.
For a long stretch there was almost no cell signal. The road ahead seemed endless, and the doubts kept travelling with us.
What if the highway reopened five minutes after we left?
What if we were racing toward nowhere?
The car became very quiet.
Eventually the signal returned. We began checking flights.
The 7:25 p.m. WestJet flight to Vancouver was impossible. But there was an 8:20 Air Canada flight. That one, perhaps, we could still make.
We reached the little regional airport just after seven.
There were only two people ahead of me at the Air Canada counter. I was ready to throw myself at the mercy of the agent, but she was in no hurry. She finished with the passengers before me while I stood there trying not to explode.
To introduce a little healthy competition, I sent my husband to the WestJet counter at the same time.
It worked.
The Air Canada agent began making calls and eventually told me she had found the last two seats to Vancouver.
Then, almost as an afterthought, I asked:
“Is the flight on time?”
Her expression changed.
There would be a one-hour delay.
Meanwhile, my husband returned from WestJet looking defeated.
“If you'd come ten minutes earlier,” the agent had told him, “we could have put you on the flight. Twenty minutes ago, no problem. But now it leaves in ten minutes. There's nothing I can do.”
I nearly fainted.
We had arrived at 7:05.
Why had we given up on WestJet so quickly?
We went back and explained the whole story—highway closure, accident, missed connection, Vancouver, onward flight to the United States.
The moment the agent heard “United States,” everything changed.
“You don't actually have to go through Vancouver,” she said.
There was a 10 p.m. flight to Calgary. From Calgary, we could take a red-eye to Toronto and then continue to the U.S. We would arrive only about four hours later than originally planned.
Did we want her to look for seats?
Of course we did.
After all the rebooking was finally done, we sat down in the terminal and looked up the accident we had encountered.
A large container truck had suffered brake failure and crashed into thirteen vehicles ahead of it. Ten ambulances and two air ambulances had been sent to the scene.
The accident had happened approximately twenty minutes before we reached that stretch of highway.
The road did not reopen until 9:45 that night.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes earlier, and we might have been in the middle of it.
Twenty minutes later at the airport, and another possibility had already disappeared.
Twenty minutes can separate tragedy from escape. It can close one road and open another.
Life remains endlessly fascinating precisely because it is uncertain. There is no standard answer and no way to control every turn. Sometimes all we really have is the intention with which we act, the clarity to make a choice, and the willingness to accept what follows.
By midnight, Calgary airport was packed with stranded and connecting passengers.
Young people were playing cards on the floor and laughing loudly. Children bounced around as if midnight were the middle of the afternoon. Two airline agents made overlapping announcements until no one could understand either of them. Eventually the man stopped, let the woman finish, cleared his throat theatrically, and started again. Everyone laughed. So did she.
Nearby, a nervous young woman refused to board her flight. An Indian father ate while lecturing his two sons; the older boy struggled to explain himself while the younger one tried very hard not to let his father see the mischief in his eyes.
Life, everywhere.
Our red-eye to Toronto departed on time.
Next stop, the United States.
What happened after that no longer seemed very important.
We were alive.
The question was what we would do with it.
七夕的20分鐘
平時很少寫很長的文章，總覺得能夠用最簡單的方式表達就不想多說，不過這次的經歷真的很值得記下來。
也許類似的事情在你的生命裡也發生過，但我仍然希望我的20分鐘經歷可以在七夕的今天給你帶來啟示——有些人怎麼盼望都不能在一起，有些人能夠在一起並非理所當然。
20分鐘算甚麼︖
20分鐘在一生中真的不算甚麼，可是對某一些人來說，20分鐘就是生離死別！
很早之前已經計劃了今天（8月5日）從家裡開車去溫哥華，享受5個小時陽光明媚的路途，然後搭乘晚上10點50分的航班前往美國東岸，開展一段神奇的探索旅程。誰知道神奇的體驗不是從美國開始，而是從步出家門就開始了。
車子才剛發動，儀錶盤就顯示車鑰匙快沒有電了，這可是大事，車鑰匙沒電意味著整輛車就會癱瘓。還好路上就有4S店可以幫忙，花了不到15分鐘的時間，店員幫我們換了電池，我們得以繼續旅程。
除了路上遇到驟雨，一切還算順利。
在大山中行走是很愉悅的一回事，尤其在夏天，路邊開滿各種顏色的小花，還有青蔥的樹林，一切都如此美好，直到面前出現一條車龍。
在高速公路遇到這種情況一定是有車禍，只是不知道有多嚴重而已。
剛開始大家都在車上等待，下午猛烈的太陽考驗著大家的耐性。隨著時間流逝，有人探頭張望，有人下車透氣，高速公路頓時變成行人步行區，有趁機跑步的，也有帶著小狗散步的。我們前面一輛車子的旅客，索性騎著自備的自行車往前方觀察情況。
看看手機，距離起飛時間還有7個小時，距離溫哥華機場的車程只剩下不到2個小時，不管前方情況如何，都應該來得及的。
沒過多久，前面的旅客騎著自行車回來分享前方信息：離我們不到10千米的地方情況很混亂，像一個戰場，路上佈滿車子的殘骸和雜物，還隱隱約約聽到他說路面有很多血。
這讓本來輕鬆的氣氛一下子緊張起來，大家默默在心裡祈禱……
沒等多久，居然有了通車的跡象。所有人急急忙忙地跳回車上，可是開出去不到2分鐘，就看到很多車被指揮轉到反方向的車道往回走，也有部分車輛停靠在路邊。
很明顯，警察只是把車子分流，想繼續往前走的還需等候。
這時我心裡開始嘀咕著，到底還需要等多久啊……
旁邊的司機說3個小時。遠遠看到在指揮交通的警察神色凝重，他對每一輛車子豎起7根手指，估計是說7點才可以走，雖然時間有點兒緊，但是還是來得及的。
在大山中網絡信號很弱，無法從互聯網了解情況，只見幾架直升飛機在空中盤旋，救護車在後面想盡辦法從車龍中擠到前面……
警察在這個時候，已經把豎起的7根手指變成5根。
甚麼意思啊︖
心裡有聲音說，不要等了，去問問警察是甚麼情況吧！
臉色蒼白的警察不安地回答我：要等5個小時，路面上全是汽油，在清理乾淨之前他們是不會放行的。
可是我要趕飛機啊……
後面的車子不斷從我身邊經過往回走。警察同情地告訴我應該有另外一條路，讓我去問問那個交通輔導員。
交通輔導員是一個黑人，說話帶著濃濃的鄉音，我聽不太明白他全部的意思，只聽到幾個關鍵點：往回走2個小時，找到8號路轉1號路，再走5個小時就到了。
我看著路的兩頭，一頭是等5個小時再走2個小時，一頭是走7個小時，那不是一樣嗎︖……
心裡的聲音說，儘快往回走找飛機場，也許可以趕上最後一趟去往溫哥華的飛機︔另一個反對的聲音說：也不一定能趕得上啊，航班也許會有延誤啊，飛機可能沒有位置啊……
我想，在這裡等也趕不上，改變行程也可能趕不上，不過立即行動，命運就在自己的手上。
我選擇盡人事聽天命。
走吧……
車子飛快地往回走，還要小心不能超速。
大山裡的網絡信號還是很弱，時有時無。看到前面沒有盡頭的公路，心裡猶豫的聲音不斷在敲鼓……
萬一我們掉頭沒多久公路就通了呢︖
這樣趕往一個未知的前方，不是很蠢嗎︖……
紛飛的思緒讓車廂顯得格外寧靜。
車子在公路上飛馳，我們只有一個念頭，就是在航空公司停止辦理登機證之前趕到機場。
越來越靠近機場，網絡信號也暢通了。發現西航晚上7點25分去往溫哥華的飛機趕不上了，加航8點20分的航班應該還有機會，在網上也看不到有起飛延誤的數據。
勝利在望……
小小的內陸機場氣氛一直都是很輕鬆的，今天也不例外。加航櫃檯前只有兩個旅客在排隊。
我一個箭步跑到櫃檯前，緊張地查詢還有沒有機票，慢悠悠的加航職員讓我等他先處理排在我前面的旅客的需求。我退到一旁等了大概10分鐘，輪到我了。
為了給加航職員一點兒激勵，我故意讓老公去西航櫃檯同步查詢。
這個行動果然奏效，她很努力地幫我查詢是否有位子，打了幾個電話，告知可以賣給我最後兩張去溫哥華的機票。
我突然心血來潮，問她：「飛機準點起飛嗎︖」
她用抱歉的眼神看著我說，會晚點1個小時……
老公失落地複述西航職員的話：「你們早10分鐘來問就好了，20分鐘之前還可以，現在差10分鐘就起飛了，真的幫不了你們……」
我聽完差點兒要暈過去。
為甚麼當時一下子就放棄了西航呢︖
我們到達機場的時候才剛剛7點5分……
再爭取一下吧。
兩個人拼命向西航的職員嘮嘮叨叨訴說路上遇到的交通意外，希望她可以幫幫忙，因為我們還要在溫哥華轉機到美國。
當她聽到目的地是美國，瞬間輕鬆地說：「去溫哥華的航班來不及，不過你們可以坐晚上10點的飛機去卡爾加里，然後坐紅眼航班去多倫多，再轉機去美國，這樣只是比你們原來的航班晚4個小時，需要幫你找位子嗎︖」
這個時候真的深刻體會到甚麼是山重水複疑無路，柳暗花明又一村啊……
忙亂地處理好一系列改換機票的事，終於可以在候機樓休息一會兒了。
在互聯網上找到下午交通意外的新聞：一輛大型集裝箱卡車因為煞車出了故障，把前面13輛車像打保齡球一樣撞個稀巴爛，出動了10輛救護車和2架救護直升飛機。
意外發生的時間剛好是我們到達該路段的20分鐘之前，這段高速公路一直封閉到晚上9點45分才開通。
20分鐘可以是生離死別，20分鐘可以是柳暗花明。
生命這個課題永遠迷人，因為無常，因為沒有標準答案，唯一可以依靠的是意誠心正。
飛機抵達卡爾加里，午夜機場塞滿了轉機的旅客。
年輕人趴在地上玩撲克，笑聲震天價響︔小孩在蹦蹦跳︔盤旋的飛機模型發出吱吱的聲音︔航空公司的兩個櫃檯同時發出刺耳的廣播，誰也聽不見誰。
女職員佔上風，男職員只好中斷讓她講完，然後他才輕輕地「咳」一聲再繼續，弄得旅客哄堂大笑，女職員也笑著在播音筒連聲說對不起。
神經質的女孩不願意登機，堵在登機又外︔印度籍的老爸一邊吃東西，一邊在訓斥兩個兒子，沒有自信的大兒子結結巴巴地在解釋，小兒子生怕爸爸看見他調皮的眼神……
前往多倫多的紅眼航班準時起飛。
下一站美國。
再下一站會發生甚麼都不重要，重要的是活著，有意義地活著……