Memory Post Week Three

As Diamond and I sprawl out on the bed, trying to read and finish some homework, a pair of purple and pink undergarments hangs out drying on the towel rack in the bathroom.
"This isn't the first time I've had to do this." Diamond's voice says behind me. I laugh as she shrugs. "As long as the jeans don't cut up your junk you'll be fine." She goes back to Lolita and I giggle, remembering when my family and I decided to visit my father's mother in Montana when I was ten. We nearly missed our flight into Salt Lake City, my father on his phone and my mother met someone in the group next to us. I click the button on my CD player to the next song and look up to see my father running across the gate to the booth. My mother calmly but quickly gathers up my sister and I and follows him to the gate muttering something along the lines of "Thank you God, oh thank you."
Later, as I come to find out, we nearly missed our plane, and if I turned down my Radio Disney CD, I would have heard my father's name called over the intercom.
We thought we were in the clear. But when we landed in Salt Lake City, there were no people at the gate. The stewardess tells us in a voice reserved for a Kindergarten teacher that we had missed our flight and would we like some vouchers for a hotel and free breakfast? Our luggage is still in route to Montana, secure in the plane, so we have nothing but the clothes on our backs and some books and snacks for the plane. Pointless material that won't be any help for my toothbrush dilemma.
The next morning, we stand at the ticket counter for what seems like three hours discussing and re-discussing the situation. Now there were no flights into Bozeman, where my grandmother lives, and after a quick call to her, we book a flight to Kalispell. Kalispell is six hours north of Bozeman, about two hours from the Canadian border.