Throughout the day, I’m reacquainted with a few of my friends. I see Lin when I’m walking to my first period class. She walks with some guy. She doesn't see me, but I watch her go into the classroom right next to mine. Peyton and I have second period AP Language and Composition together. Courtney and I have fourth period math together. A lot of people are excited about my trip to Texas and want to hear all about it when I come back.
I manage to tell a few of my teachers who seem more chill about my expected absence, and they take it pretty well. I’ll tell the others tomorrow.
✦✦✦
On Friday, I start my school day off in AP Research like I did yesterday, but today, things get real.
I took AP Seminar last year as a part of the AP Capstone program, and since I passed that class, if I pass this one too, I’ll get an AP Capstone diploma when I graduate. It’s a new thing, so I think it’ll look good on my college applications.
In AP Research, I’ll be writing one college-level research paper over the entire school year. Today, we’re supposed to start brainstorming ideas, so I have to figure out what I want to research for the entire year. With a class of only nine students, at least I don’t have to worry about someone else coming up with the same idea as me.
I’m thinking about something photography-related since that’s something I’m becoming passionate about, and since I’m taking a photography class this semester, that could help. But I can’t figure out how to narrow it down past the general theme of photography. The bell rings for the end of class, so I’ll have to figure it out on Monday.
Throughout the rest of the day, I tell my remaining teachers about my expected absence. The AP teachers seem stressed for me because I’ll have a lot of work to make up when I get back, but I’m not worried.
✦✦✦
Finally, after much anticipation, Tuesday arrives. I get through the school day and arrive home to find Mom packing.
“Hey, how was your day?” She asks me. Keagan runs upstairs to his room.
“Good. Whatcha doing?” I ask.
“Finishing packing. We’re going to leave around midnight, so you should try to get some sleep now because you’ll be driving first.” She puts a pack of Snapple tea into a bag with a bunch of food.
“Okay.” I head upstairs and change into shorts. Then, I close my bedroom door and climb into bed. Light peaks through the windows, and it’s hot under my blanket. But eventually, I fall asleep.
When I wake up, it’s dark in my room, and my mind feels foggy. I roll out of bed and head downstairs. Jessica sits in the living room with her head leaning against the armrest of the couch. She must hear my footsteps because she looks over at me right away.
“Finally,” she says with a load of attitude. She stands up from the couch and walks past me up the stairs. I hear our bedroom door close loudly. My parents sit at the kitchen table, and Mom rolls her eyes.
“She was annoyed that we made her wait to go into your room. We wanted to make sure you got enough sleep,” Mom explains. She looks tired. I wonder if she slept.
“Are you guys ready?” Dad asks and stands up.
It’s eleven o’clock at night, and my stomach grumbles. Mom somehow knows because she walks into the kitchen and hands me a premade sandwich.
“Oh, thanks,” I say. I eat it too quickly and get hiccups.
When I’m ready to go, Dad leads Mom and I outside with a handful of our bags. Mom and I carry one too, and we load them all into Mom and I’s little red car.
“I’m going to check the oil level and tire pressure one last time before you go,” Dad says. His voice sounds uncertain. He must be nervous for us. Because of the expense of the trip, only Mom could come with me to Texas, and even then, we have to drive because it’s cheaper than flying. But this means Dad will be stuck at home with all my siblings for almost a week. I can’t imagine the chaos that will ensue.
The plan is to drive straight through without any stops so that we can arrive for Dane’s first ceremony on Thursday. Hopefully, all goes as planned. Dad finishes checking the car and gives Mom a hug and kiss.
“Love you guys. Drive safe and remember to text me whenever you get off at an exit so I know where you are,” Dad says.
“Love you too,” I say.
“Love you. We will,” Mom says.
“And have fun!” Dad says. He waves, as I back out of the driveway. Then, I turn the corner, and we’re on our way.
The roads are empty and dark. Mom turns the radio on quietly and says she’s going to try to get some sleep. Every time I look at her, though, she’s still wide awake.
I drive until we’re in Illinois. My eyes keep fluttering shut, so I pull over and Mom starts driving. I fall asleep in the passenger seat quickly.
The next time I wake up, it’s light outside. Mom still looks wide awake, and I don’t know how. We’re in Missouri now. We stop in St. Louis and Springfield and a bunch of other cities along the way to fill up on gas and then keep driving. We switch back and forth whenever we get tired, and we constantly feel hungry, even when we shove our faces with junk food.
We drive through the sliver of land that connects Missouri and Oklahoma, making our way through Tulsa and Oklahoma City. The day grows long. My legs ache, and I’m tired, even after sleeping. I desperately want to take a shower, brush my teeth, and sleep in a bed, but we’re not stopping until we get to San Antonio. The switches between Mom and I become less frequent. She drives more. I sleep more.
Sixteen hours into our trip, we drive through Dallas, Texas, and we hit rush hour. I’m driving now but only at about six and a half miles per hour. Traffic stops, and it starts to rain.
“I think I hate Texas already,” I say.
It takes me almost four hours to get through Dallas and Austin, Texas, and finally, we arrive in San Antonio. Mom drives us the rest of the way to our hotel, and we find ourselves at the small, dingy hotel we’ll be staying at around eight p.m.
“So, it was supposed to take us seventeen hours to get here, according to Google. Do you know how long it actually took us?” Mom asks, while we carry our bags of luggage to our room.
“Twenty.”
When we get inside the room, Mom tells me not to put anything on the bed yet. She goes into the bathroom and comes out five minutes later.
“It’s all clean. Make sure to wear your flip flops in the shower, though. I’ll check out here to make sure it’s clean,” Mom says. I grab a change of clothes from my suitcase and head into the bathroom. The shower feels amazing like I’m rinsing off a year’s worth of grime and stench.
When I come out, Mom is wrapping up a phone call with Dad. And she’s sitting on the bed, so I assume it was clean enough for her standards. The white comforter that was on the bed is shoved into a corner, though. Mom ends the call a few minutes later.
“That was your dad. He just finished getting everyone ready for bed. I told him we got here safely and that the room is clean. I checked everywhere‒under the bed, under the mattress, everywhere‒and I didn’t find anything. So I think they actually clean everything pretty good. I never trust a comforter, though. They usually don’t clean them,” Mom says, eyeballing the comforter balled up in the corner. I sit on the bed, and it feels strange. I’ve never stayed in a hotel before. I’ve never been to Texas before either, so these are all new experiences.
“Was there hot water?” Mom asks.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, I’m going to take a quick shower, and then we can go to bed.”
So while Mom heads into the bathroom, I get comfortable in bed but try not to fall asleep. Mom comes out fifteen minutes later, looking much more relaxed. She makes sure the door to our room is locked and pushes both of our suitcases against the door.
“Just in case someone tries to open it,” she says. Then, she turns off the lights, gets into the bed that we’ll be sharing, and we both fall asleep. Or at least, we try.
My mind runs wild, even though I’m exhausted. It doesn't
feel like I’m a thousand miles away from my family and only a few miles away from Dane. My chest hurts when I think about seeing him tomorrow. I don’t know what to expect. I count backwards from 100 and end up falling asleep somewhere around 30.
I wake up to an alarm coming from Mom’s phone. It takes me a second to realize where I am, and when it hits me, I’m suddenly wide awake. Today, I see Dane.
The morning is a blur of getting ready quickly. We both get dressed and brush our teeth. The Texas heat makes my hair incredibly poofy, so I try my best to tame it. When we’re ready, we head to the hotel lobby to get free breakfast. It’s only cheap muffins and cereal, but we eat it anyways.
When we step outside, the sun is already bright and scorching. I’ll probably regret wearing this black romper, but I want to look cute when I see Dane. So I’ll take my chances.
The Suttons are somewhere here in San Antonio too; they’re staying in one of the nicer hotels, though. Mom texts Pam, and they figure out that we’ll meet each other inside Lackland Airforce Base.
Mom drives, and even at eight in the morning, Texan drivers are ruthless.
My stomach is full of butterflies already, so I’m thankful I passed up the morning coffee because that dose of caffeine would’ve spiked my anxiety. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, but the anticipation is building slowly but surely. I feel it like tiny drops of sand filling up the inside of my body, rising to my throat.
Mom pulls into Lackland AFB, and at the gate, a man asks for our IDs. Mom hands him our two tickets for graduation, and he lets us through. It seems too easy.
“I don’t know where we’re supposed to go,” Mom admits.
“Just follow that person,” I say. Hopefully, they’re a family coming for graduation as well. If not, they’ll lead us to the wrong place, and we’ll become lost immediately.
The speed limit is only 30 miles per hour, so we move at a snail’s pace. The car in front of us turns, so we turn as well. We keep following them until we see a place where cars are parking. A man in uniform guides people into spots, so Mom rolls down her window.
“Is this where we park for graduation?” Mom asks.
“Yes, ma’am. Right this way,” the airman says. He directs us towards an open spot, so Mom parks there. Mom looks at me.
“Are you ready?” She asks.
“I guess.” I grab my camera and step out of the car. Mom walks over to the airman.
“Where do we go from here?” She asks. The man points to a big building not too far away.
“You’ll walk to the right of that building, and there’s a big gate. You won’t miss it.”
“Okay, thank you,” Mom says.
“My pleasure.”
So Mom and I start our walk to the big building. There are a few people walking towards the same place with us, not wearing uniforms, so I know we’re headed in the right direction.
When we pass the big building, the gate is obvious like the airman said it would be. Dozens of people stand around the gate, and through it, dozens more people walk around a large field and track. There are two sets of bleachers on opposite sides of the field, so I assume that’s where we’ll sit.
“Where are Pam and Ethan?” I ask Mom, as we walk through the crowd of people. Mom pulls out her phone.
“They’re already here. She said right side up at the very top.” I look at the right-side bleachers, and there are already fifty people or so. But I spot Pam, Ethan, and Joseph right away. Pam waves at us, and Mom and I climb up the steps towards them.
The bleachers are unlike any other kind of bleachers I’ve ever seen. These don’t have any seats. Instead, people sit straight on the concrete ground. There are probably one hundred rows, but the bleachers could probably fit thousands of people. I don’t know how many people will be here today, but there should be plenty of room for everyone.
We reach the Sutton’s row, and Pam embraces both of us with a hug. Mom and I are out of breath.
“It’s so good to see you!” She says. Ethan and Joseph wave and smile to us.
“Good to see you too,” Mom says.
“This is so exciting!” Pam says, “Oh, is that Dane’s camera? That’s such a good idea.”
“Yeah, I thought I could get some photos of everything,” I say. Dane got this camera as a graduation present, but he let me borrow it all summer while he was away. So I’ve been practicing my photography skills every now and again. This will be another perfect opportunity.
Even under the protection of an awning, the heat is killer. My skin already heats up, and I know I’ll be sweating by the end of this. But even though it’s hot, it’s also beautiful.
The sky is cloudless light blue with streaks of white from where planes have flown this morning. It looks like a painting. People continue to fill up the space around us for the next hour, and their added body heat and breath make it even hotter. Pam and my mom talk to each other, but I don’t hear them. I watch everything that’s going on, and it feels surreal.
After an hour and a half, the bleachers on both sides are nearing capacity, and I’m shocked. People walk up and down the aisles, searching for a place to sit with their families. Other people eye through the crowd carefully, trying to find friends or relatives that they know.
A man in uniform carries a gun up the stairs and stands two rows above us. I look at him, but he doesn't look at me. He stares straight ahead. An uneasiness fills me, but I turn around and face forward. His job is to protect us in case someone decides to do something stupid. I guess that’s a good thing.
I bring up my camera and use it as a makeshift pair of binoculars, looking through the lens and zooming in to see across the field. To the left of the bleachers is another small set of bleachers. They actually have seats, and those people look important. To the right of them is a podium with people in uniform standing around it.
To the right of the bleachers are big buildings. I think they’re dormitories. I zoom all the way in and peer underneath the awnings. I see a large group of people who are far away, and I wonder if Dane is with them. My thoughts are interrupted by someone speaking. The ceremony is beginning.
After a lot of speaking and introductions that I don’t really hear, there’s silence. And then, we hear something. It’s like chanting, but it’s quiet. People all around us start chattering to each other, trying to figure out what’s going on. I look to the right side where I know the people are, and a line of people in uniform begin to emerge from the group of dorms. They’re jogging, and they’re chanting or singing something. At first, there are dozens of them coming from under those buildings, but then there are hundreds.
I look through my camera and zoom in, but it won’t zoom in close enough to see any of their faces. As more of them get closer, their singing gets louder. They’re in complete unison; even their running is identical.
The first people to run out meet the track, and they start to run around it. Everyone follows, moving at the same speed in the same direction. They’re like perfectly programmed robots. Finally, the line ends, and all of the men and women in uniform reach the track. They continue running but start a different song. It’s so strange, and I’m mesmerized by it.
Eventually, everyone stops running around the track, and instead, they form boxes all around the field. One person at the front of each of the boxes holds a flag, signifying their squadron. I search for Dane’s through my camera.
“Dane’s squadron is the one closest to us. Right there,” I say and point to the group. Pam looks excited, but I know she can’t see. They’re too far away. I look through my camera again and zoom in as far as I can, searching the faces of his squadron. They’re facing the podium, though and all look too similar for me to find Dane.
I give up and listen as someone speaks at the podium. She’s explaining what the trainees have been through and what’s about to happen next. She says the trainees are about to get their Airman’s Coin, which signifies their transition from a trainee to an Airman.
When she’s done talking, someone on the field yells something incoherent, and all at once, the trainees turn and face the bleachers. They move in perfect unison and then freeze. Half the group faces the bleachers I’m sitting on, and the other half faces in the opposite direction.
I look through my camera again to try to find Dane. I start at the back row and move slow. And he’s right there‒right in the middle of the back row. I take a photo and immediately open it in my camera gallery to zoom in. It’s him.
“Look,” I say and show Pam. Ethan and Joseph look over her shoulder, and then I show it to Mom. “Back row fourth from the left.” Pam looks and smiles so big.
I point my camera at Dane again and snap another picture. When I open it and zoom in on his face in the gallery, he’s looking right at me. My heart skips, and I feel giddy. A smile creeps onto my face because Dane knows I’m here. We’re so close.
People wearing big brown hats walk through each squadron of trainees, and another person follows each of them, holding brown boxes of coins. Each of them stop in front of a trainee, they salute each other, and then they hand the trainee a coin from the brown box. They do this over and over again through each row. It’s slow and monotonous, watching this take place, but I take photos when it’s Dane’s turn. Then, after his turn is over, I wait for them to finish. It takes so long, and I start to bounce my foot up and down.
Eventually, everyone finishes, and they are instructed by someone to face the podium again. Someone speaks again, and time slows when they announce that we can find our airmen.
The bleachers erupt in chaos. People are standing, pushing, running, and yelling. We’re at the top, so we’re slow to get down. I hand my phone to Mom and tell her to record Dane and I seeing each other for the first time, and she obliges.
My heart beats out of my chest, and I suddenly feel incredibly sweaty. I work my way towards the bottom, dodging people and slipping through gaps. Until finally, I’m at the bottom, and I walk onto the field. The airman stand at rest and can’t move until someone taps them out, so hundreds of them stand and face forward like robots while people push around them.
Love Lasts Page 15