by Lark O'Neal
After a second he does. I hold his gaze steadily. It’s hard to see all the way into his heart, but I know he can see into mine. “I believe in you.”
He pulls my fingers up to his mouth and kisses them fiercely. A flush burns across the top of his sharp cheekbones, and I feel the heat of his lips on my skin. “Thank you.”
Then, in an obvious effort to lighten things up, he offers me the fruit on his fork. I lean forward and snatch it with my teeth, growling. He chuckles, his posture easing.
We watch the flow of people below us, families with little kids pulling pastel-colored suitcases on wheels and annoyed-looking businessmen, and everyone in between, old and young, fat and thin, black and white and brown and everything else. “It’s a big world, isn’t it?” I say.
“It is. And you get to go back to the place where you spent your childhood. I’m looking forward to seeing it through your eyes.”
The flutter starts in my tummy again, and I touch it. “Yeah.”
He notices.
“Somebody told me once when I was really freaked over an event,” he says, putting his right hand over my left, “that I could think of that feeling as nervousness or I could choose to see it as anticipation.”
“That’s good. Anticipation.” Even thinking the word eases the tension in my belly. I settle my right hand over his right and he piles his left on top. “Hand sandwich,” I say.
His lip curls on one side. There’s something tense coming from him, hot and bubbling even as he’s trying to be calm and reasonable. It makes my skin prickle, make me think of how all that intensity manifests when we have sex—fierce and wild and sweaty. “It would still be easier if I wasn’t going alone.”
“I know.” He pulls one hand out and puts it on top, and I pull mine out and layer that one on top. The old kid’s game. Our skin slides, slaps. He meets my eyes, turns his palm upward on the next round so that our palms are hot against each other. “You’re going to be fine. You’re smart. You have an adventurous nature.”
I give him a skeptical glance. “I do?”
He frees his hands, and uses one to brush a tendril of hair from my face. The other falls on my thigh. “You’re curious and interested in everything around you, and ready to fly halfway around the world. It’s going to be an epic adventure.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
“I brought you something.” He pulls out a small package wrapped in paisley paper.
“Tyler! How did you even have time? We were together last night.”
“I bought it a couple of weeks ago. Open it.”
I pull the paper off the small white box and lift the lid. It’s a necklace, a charm on an elegant silver chain. The charm looks like a tiny telescope with carvings around the outside. “It’s beautiful.”
“Hold it up to your eye.”
I look through the little hole. “A kaleidoscope!” It’s amazing, hefty for its size, and fully functioning. As I turn it, the tiny worlds inside it change and change again, blue and red chips falling into new patterns with purple and a dash of yellow. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“To help you remember that change can be beautiful.
Tears sting my eyes over the thought he put into it. “Tyler, that’s wonderful.” I lean in and press my lips to his, lingering for a moment, looking into his eyes. “Thank you.” I put the necklace on over my head. Closing my hand over the small cold weight of it, I add, “So magical!”
“I thought so, too. Sweetest little thing ever.”
A small silence falls between us again. Quietly we finish the meal, watching people stream by. It isn’t awkward or strained. It’s one of the things I like about him, that he can be quiet, he doesn’t need me to show that I’m paying attention to him all the time.
I roll up the paper from my sandwich, and he says, “We should get you to security.”
Without the weight of all those books, my pack is fine, and as I pull the straps on my shoulders, I say, “That’s better, thanks.”
“Anytime. I mean it, too. Get as many books as you like. I will not mind.”
I nod.
The security lines have thinned considerably, and he walks with me through the snaky line leading up to the desk. “You need your boarding pass and your passport.”
“Right.” I pull them out of the pocket in the front of the pack, where I decided they should stay. “Electra told me that it helps to have a system when you travel, so you always know where things are. Always do it the same way and then, when you get all jet-lagged or whatever, you still have the system.”
“Smart.” He takes my free hand, and we’re silent as the line moves toward the podium where a woman in a uniform is checking credentials. His thumb travels over my hand, soft and light. Ten people ahead of us. Eight, seven.
Three. Two.
“I’m going to miss you,” he says, and slides his arm around me and kisses the top of my head. “But I am so proud of you for doing this. Promise you’ll have a really good time, Jess. Don’t hold back. Promise.”
I hug him back, my arm tight around his lean waist, his chest against my cheek. Waves of terror and sadness and excitement and anticipation wash through my lungs, making it hard to breathe. “What am I doing, Tyler? I can’t believe I’m flying 10 billion miles away from you.”
He tilts my head backward and cups my cheek. “You’ll be fine.”
“Thank you.”
We kiss then, fierce and deep and wild, a kiss that has to last…how long? I don’t even know.
“One last thing,” he says, letting me go to pull out a roll of fruit-flavored Mentos. “My secret weapon for long flights.”
I grin. “Practical.”
“Always.”
The security woman calls, “Next.”
It’s my turn. I squeeze his hand and let go, stepping forward to give the woman my passport. “Heading home?” she asks.
“Kind of,” I say, and glance back at Tyler. Before he can hide it, I see the loss in his face, then he smiles and lifts a hand.
“Epic,” he says with his fist in the air. I cross my heart, raise my hand. A promise.
“You’re all set,” the woman says. She waves me through.
When I turn back to wave to Tyler one more time, he’s gone.
Chapter TWO
As we head through a bank of clouds into LA, the plane bounces and jerks so hard that a little kid in back keeps screaming in sharp bursts. I want to throw up. My hands are gripped tight on the arms of the seat, and I look at the guy next to me in alarm. Again. An hour ago I asked him, “Is it supposed to be like this?”
“We should be having coffee right now,” he’d said. “Is this your first flight?”
I nodded.
“They’re not all this rough. There are thunderstorms over the mountains.”
So we didn’t get drinks or anything, because the flight attendants couldn’t get out of their seats. This was after we sat in the terminal for an extra hour and a half before we could even take off. I’m nervous about making the next flight and I wanted to text Tyler, but that was selfish and just me wanting reassurance, not standing on my own two feet.
The thing I keep telling myself is that I am just trying this on. My old life fell apart and I had to do something. It was impulsive to decide to take my dad up on his offer to come to New Zealand, but as Electra pointed out, I’m almost twenty and allowed to make some impulsive choices. The only wrong thing is to stay stuck.
Millions of girls take off for Europe with nothing but a backpack, traveling to places where the language and culture are way different. At least they speak English in New Zealand. My father lives there. I’ve lived there before.
It’s all going to be okay.
Every book I’ve read about somebody leaving one life and going to another skips the travel part. End chapter one in the old place, open chapter two in the new one.
Which would leave out a big part of this trip. Like landing so late I have to run to find the nex
t gate, only to discover I have to get on a shuttle bus to take me to there, and then the shuttle goes twice around before I realize it. The driver asks me in a thickly accented voice, “Miss, do you know where you are going?”
I tell him, and he tells me when to get off, and then I’m so flustered I forget to tip him, which makes me feel like #tourist #fail
But by then it’s only fifteen minutes until the next flight starts boarding and I have to get through security again, and I’m panicky. I have to pee so bad I can’t stand to go through the line before I do, so I waste more time looking for the restroom, and then there’s a line there, too. So I stand there, creeping forward one person at a time with everybody else, gritting my teeth to keep from pissing my pants.
The security line is very, very long, and when I finally get to the desk I look at the clock and my ticket and the guy checking documents, and I say, “I’m going to miss this plane, aren’t I?”
He purses his lips, checks my passport, the boarding pass, the clock. All of it taking ten years, like he’s moving underwater. “You might.” He touches the mic on his collar. “Javier, got a rush here.”
A young guy, all eyes and legs, looking even skinnier than he is in a uniform that’s too big for him, materializes beside me. “Come with me.” He holds out his hand, and I’m bewildered at first, but he means he wants my documents. I shove them in his hand, and he leads me through the snaking lines, people giving me the evil eye all the way.
I’m through the line in three minutes, running in my stocking feet down the concourse, looking for the gate. At the very end, I see a line of people, and skid to a stop. My gate. Still boarding. “Thank God.”
The man in front of me is clean cut, wearing a lavender shirt with tiny red stripes. “Where’s your seat, love?” he asks in an accent that’s just like my dad’s.
My hands are full of shoes and my scarf, which I’m trying to wind back around my neck. He slips my ticket out of my hand, looks at the seat number. “Sweet. They’ve already called you.”
“Thanks. I’ll just wait in line.” I still need to put my shoes on, and anyway, what am I supposed to do, just shove in front of everybody? It’s not like any of us are going to end up anywhere else.
I push my feet back into my shoes, smooth my scarf and my hair, and try to take a deep breath. I should have bought a bottle of water. I’m very thirsty right now. And very hungry. “Do they give us dinner on this flight?” I ask the guy.
“They do. Not bad, either.” He’s probably a little older than my step-dad Henry, with gray hair sparkling at his temples and wrinkles cut deep around his eyes. “You haven’t flown this route before?”
“Not since I was a kid.” I wave my black and silver New Zealand passport. “I was born there, but my mom brought me to the States when I was six.”
“Long time to be away.”
I nod, flutters awakening in my belly as I think again of how far away it is, how little I really know about my dad.
Our line moves quickly, and then I’m walking down the carpeted hallway into the plane. When I step inside, I can’t help but whisper, “Wow,” because it looks like something out of the future. All the lights are soft purple and the atmosphere is somehow hushed. The flight attendant checks my seat, and directs me across the aisle and to my right. With the rest of the passengers, I’m passing first class with its big beds and special lighting, then filing through an area with roomy egg-shaped pods.
Which turns out to be where I am. “Is this right?” I ask the attendant, showing her my ticket.
She smiles and nods. “You’re by the window. Right there.”
I think of the lady at the counter in Denver, who had changed my seat. This is her doing. I grin as I sit down, feeling like rock star. The woman next to me is already making herself ready for the night, shaking out a blanket over her body, a curved pillow tucked around her neck and black satin eye shades on her forehead. I wonder what will happen if I need to go to the bathroom.
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For now, I take out my phone and shoot a photo, which I send to Tyler with a smiley face.
His text comes back instantly. Whoa. How’d you score first class?
I don’t think it’s first. It’s like biz class or something. I saw the first class beds up front.
That’s one gorgeous cabin. New.
I know, right? I’m so excited! I have movies and earphones and a blanket and even a little eyepillow and socks.
Have a blast.
I frown for a minute. Sorry, I should have asked if I caught you at a bad time.
Not at all. I’m just painting, thinking about you. Didn’t want to get all maudlin & bring you down.
A ripple of sadness shivers through me. Ok, I’ll leave you alone. Paint something gorgeous.
It’s you, so of course it is.
The flight attendants are rushing through now, closing the cupboards above our heads and helping passengers get last minute things done.
I guess I have to go. They’re shutting the doors. It feels weird to know I can’t use this phone anymore after this.
You’ll get another one there.
I know.
You’re going to be fine, Jess. Remember: you’re smart and adventurous.
And alone, I think, but I type: Thanks. I hesitate, then tap out, I love you.
I love you, too. Xoxoxoxoxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxox
I smile and turn off the phone.
“Boyfriend?” the woman next to me asks.
“Yeah.”
“Distance makes the heart grow fonder, you know.”
I take a breath and raise my eyebrows. “Yeah, I’m afraid of that.”
She chuckles. “You’ll be too busy to miss him.”
“Maybe.”
“Do you have a picture?”
“Really?”
“I have a son your age. He’s in Spain without his girlfriend and pining away, even though she’s going to join him in a month.” She shakes her head. “Waste of a good adventure, if you ask me.”
“But when you’re in love, you miss the other person.”
She gives me a wistful smile. “If it’s true love, it will wait. Let me see his picture.”
I scroll through my phone and find one of Tyler on the shores of the lake by his family’s cabin, hair tousled and glossy, eyes impossibly bright. “He was going to maybe come visit me, but I’m not sure it’ll work out.”
She takes my phone. “He is gorgeous, isn’t he? Look how he looks at you.”
I smile, thinking of the very hot sex we had on that beach.
“You’re going to be fine.” She hands me back the phone. “Can I offer you a piece of advice?”
“I guess.”
“Don’t throw away the fun you might have because you’re worried about a guy back home. Go for the gusto.”
It echoes what Electra said. “My neighbor said to find my own dream.”
“If you have your own dream, you can’t get too lost. That’s the thing. True love can’t save you if your love dies or drifts away.”
“Did that happen to you?”
She settles back in her seat, tugging the blanket up to her chin. “Never mind that. Just go out there and find a life that thrills you, even if there’s no man in it.”
“Thanks.” I look at the picture of Tyler for a long time, then turn off the phone, trying to ignore the pinch in my chest. In a way, the woman’s words make me feel lonely—I don’t want a life that I live on my own forever. Someday I want a husband and a family, like everyone else. Maybe even more than other people want it, considering how unstable my family life has been.
But in a way she’s also right. I think about Henry, filling up his house with stuff to cover the loneliness he felt after my mom died. I think of Electra, with her mysterious past and no husband, cooking for herself, gardening, working as an ER nurse because it makes her feel valuable.
I think of Mary Oliver’s poem—what will you do with your one
wild and precious life? I do need a life of my own.
I just have no idea what it might be.
* * *
They do serve dinner, a substantial meal with all the trimmings, then everyone settles in for the night. The cabin lights go dim, and they ask us to pull the shades to increase the darkness. I put on my earphones and watch movies for a while, but in the end, it’s not as satisfying as reading. Since this morning I’ve read one whole book and started a second, a thriller that’s kind of giving me the creeps, so I close it and open another one, a lighter story about a girl who adopts a dog after her boyfriend gets married to someone else. As the cabin settles, almost sighing, the engine cocoons us in white noise. I curl up in a ball in my pod, pull the blankets up to my ears like the lady next to me, and fall asleep.
When I wake up I have no idea where I am and straighten too fast, jerking my neck. Then I realize I’m on the plane, and I do have to pee, of course. The lady next to me is snoring softly, her legs kicked out.
I stand and brace myself on my seat, then carefully, carefully, step over her. She doesn’t stir, and I let go of a sigh of relief as both stocking feet hit the aisle. There’s no one waiting, and I use the bathroom, and wash my face and hands thoroughly, then dry off with paper towels. In the greenish light my skin is greasy and my braid is looking furry, with bumps at the top where I slept. I smooth it down as best I can, but how can you look good after flying for—I don’t even know how long it’s been now. Hours and hours and hours.
When I come out, I turn the wrong way at first, and there’s the rest of the airplane, rows of seats, nicer than the plane to LA, but still pretty cramped compared to my seat. Lucky me.
I turn around and go back the other way, enjoying the feeling of walking a little bit. My feet are glad of the circulation. Everyone is asleep or watching their individual movie screens. I don’t see the flight attendants, so they must be resting somewhere, too. I wonder what that’s like—flying back and forth across the ocean for your job, crossing the date line, changing time zones all the time. Is it fun? Or hard? They have gorgeous uniforms, blue and green, and they’re all as tidy as mannequins.