“Well, it looks like you didn’t travel too lightly this trip,” Cindy called out as she flipped her shiny blonde hair back off her shoulder.
“Huh?” Max answered.
“The lavender suitcase; please don’t tell me that’s yours?” she said deliberately.
I could see his body tighten as I peeked from behind the big, round cement column. She knows—I can feel it. She was playing cat and mouse with him. Please, Max, please don’t crack.
“Well, yeah, as a matter of fact, it isn’t mine,” his voice rose. My heart stopped. “It’s my girlfriend’s. I had a lot to bring on this trip, so she let me borrow it.”
“Thank God, because that bag is just way too feminine for a brute like you.” She faked a boxer punch to his arm. “Besides, it reminds me of my back-stabbing, vulgar roommate, Wilson—who, by the way, used me to get a ticket out here to Aspen so she could make out with my douchy step-brother.
What? AS IF—I didn’t make out with Nick. Give me a break, that’s the last thing I would consider doing. I can’t believe she told him that. She is such a bitch!
Max cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Did you just fly in today?”
“No, I’m waiting for my father. He got stuck on the East Coast. So much for a traditional family Christmas. Anyway, did you need a ride? I have a car out front, we can take you.”
“Oh, no, I’m good,” Max stuttered.
“Well, let me give you my cell number in case you need to call me.” She pulled out a pen from her purse, snatched his arm, and tickled her fingers across his hand before she scribbled her number on his palm. He didn’t pull away. He just stood there and let her ho-bag hands touch him.
I grabbed my cell phone and dialed him. I couldn’t believe it took three rings to finally get his attention.
Chapter Four
Max snagged his phone from his pocket. “I have to take this call,” he said to Cindy, making huge deliberate motions. She held up her hand—her thumb to her ear and her finger to her lips—as she walked away. Call me, she mouthed to him.
Yeah, like he would really call you.
“Hey,” he sang into my ear.
“Hi, I thought I should save you from trouble,” I said as I watched him walk the opposite direction from Cindy.
“Thanks, I almost got away before she tagged me.” I watched him hold his hand up in front of his face.
“Yeah, she was pretty quick with giving you her digits,” I teased.
“You didn’t like that, huh?”
“Not particularly,” I answered.
“She only wants to make sure I get home,” he mused.
“She wants to take you home—with her.”
“Oh, come on, not Cindy. I’m not her type,” he played. “Besides, sounds like maybe Nick would like to take you home too,” he whispered.
“Well, that’s just Cindy planting and hoeing in your garden.”
“What? My garden? I don’t get it,” he questioned.
“I’ll explain later,” I spat.
“Meet me by the restrooms on the left; I need to scrub her number off my hand. And, Wilson, let’s hope you don’t run into Nick.”
“Ditto,” I replied.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and felt my stomach churn with the dread of having to deal with the seeds Cindy had planted in Max’s head. Okay, so what if Nick did kiss me last time I saw him? It wasn’t mutual—he kissed me, I didn’t kiss him. It wasn’t like I enjoyed it. Far from it. I pushed him away.
I glanced over at Cindy and watched her cast a nasty look at the girls in the gift shop before she tromped off toward the baggage claim. I scanned the area and noticed that there was another huge, cement column next to the men’s restroom. If I was going to make it without being seen, I had to make a dash for it now. I clung to the wall, studying the rhythms and patterns of the people scampering through the airport. One man dragged two suitcases while the woman next to him pulled a little girl behind, screaming to go back to the gift shop. A family of four was jogging in a line, maneuvering through the crowd to their next gate, panicked that they were going to miss their connecting flight. Finally, a group of wide-eyed tourists moseyed past; it was now or never to get lost in the middle of them as they made their way toward the restrooms.
I glanced back at where Cindy had stood, but she was gone; lost in the droves of passengers fighting for positions at their Disneyland-type vomit monsters that regurgitated their suitcases. I pushed off the wall and darted into the center of the tourists. They were speaking loud, violent, consonant-heavy words; it took me a second before I realized they were speaking in German. I flashed an apologetic smile as I glanced at them. Sailing with them among the raging waves of hurried passengers, I bobbed and swayed to avoid capsizing among the masses. I reached the restrooms without incident, and was even able to give a slight smile and tiny wave to the crew who’d gotten me across the turbulent sea of people.
Just as I took a deep breath to clear away the anxiousness of the last several minutes, Max was coming out of the men’s room.
“Hey, sweetheart—look, good as new.” Max held up his hand, palm toward me. No digits, no hearts, no reminiscence of Cindy violating my man with a ballpoint pen.
“Thank God she didn’t use a Sharpie,” I smiled through my reply. But my nerves were twisted in shambles. I didn’t like the fact that Cindy was in the same airport as Max and me. All I could think about was getting caught and ending up being the subject of her next tweet on Twitter.
“Ready?” Max asked. His eyes narrowed and his eyebrows curved, his facial expression speaking the words he didn’t say.
“Yeah, I just don’t like that Cindy is here too. The faster we get out of here, the better I’ll feel,” I said as I peered around, looking for any sign that Cindy might have decided to come back and pick up on Max again.
“Don’t worry about it, we are almost out of here,” he smiled as he grabbed my hand and we walked toward the other end of the terminal.
As we approached the double sliding doors with two enormous forest-green wreaths, I noticed an old man waving at us. He was a gruff-looking guy with gray hair and earthen-brown skin. His face was worn with deep, carved lines that told their own stories of a hardened life. His hazel eyes, filtered with a hue of yellow, spoke volumes of his life in the service of others.
“Hi-ya’, Mist’a Goldstein. They told me to come on up here and tell y’all that they are ready for you and yours.” His head bobbled toward me. His teeth, jagged and unclean, danced with black spaces as he spoke.
“Why thank you, Mr. Albright,” Max said as he shook the man’s hand. Not letting go, he pointed and introduced me. “I would like you to meet my girlfriend, Wilson.”
“Hi-ya, Miss Wilson. Sure is my pleasure.” He lowered his head toward me.
“Wilson, this is Mr. Albright. He is the most amazing mechanic. He can fix just about anything. Isn’t that right, Mr. Albright?” Max’s eyes danced. He looked at Mr. Albright with a child-like awe that swelled deep within his soul. I grabbed the man’s dry, cracked, grimy hand.
Mr. Albright turned a shade darker. With a jack-o-lantern smile, he answered, “Aw, you’re too kind Mist’a Goldstein. Let’s just hope I keep your bird in the air, that’s ‘bout all I have to say abou’ that,” he chuckled as our hands continued to bounce between us.
“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Albright,” I said.
“Now, Miss Wilson, you can call me Bernie.”
“Nice to meet you…Bernie,” I repeated.
“Now you come on after me,” he said as he limped and hobbled back to a door with a sign on it that read Authorized Personnel Only.
“Here’s the place. Miss Wilson, you have a nice flight and merry holidays.” Bernie held my hand and nodded at Max. “Mist’a Goldstein.”
“Thanks, Mr. Albright. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Max finished as he clutched Bernie’s hand, making sure not to let go until Bernie was going to take what
ever money Max had trapped in their clutch.
“Oh, no, I can’t take this.” Bernie’s eyes grew, swelling with magnifying tears.
“I insist, you’ve made me very happy. Take your wife to a nice dinner,” Max pushed.
Bernie kept shaking his head no. Max grabbed him at the shoulders and said, “If not for me, for Wilson—it would make her very happy.”
The old, worn man looked past Max, meeting my eyes. He agreed.
Max ran his fingers through his hair, straightening his appearance before opening the door to whatever waited for us outside.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered before he grabbed my hand.
“What if I fall?” My heart thrashed in agreement.
“I won’t let you. Trust me.” He led me out into the sub-freezing temperatures of Denver, Colorado. Streaks of black and sparks of white danced in my blinded sight. My hair swirled around my face, causing stray strands to get stuck on my lips; my walk, unsure and very unstable. Max stopped, grabbed both my shoulders, and spun me to face where I was going to find the surprise for my birthday. Then his touch disappeared.
“Max? Where are you?” I felt my heart speed up and perspiration seep from my skin.
“Don’t worry, I’m right here,” he whispered in my ear.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
My eyes were wary, struggling to adjust and see what he had planned on my birthday. I was standing on the tarmac staring at a small, four-person helicopter. My life flashed before my eyes. Max turned back to me, and his eyes grew as he held his arms out. “Ta-dah! Surprise, we are going to Aspen by helicopter.”
My mouth sped dry, my trachea shut, and I couldn’t speak. What did he just say? Helicopter? I’d never been in a flying glass death trap before. I wanted to be happy, but quite frankly, I was scared shitless. The teardrop body of the helicopter looked like it was made out of thin Plexiglas and the blades above looked droopy, burdened with the thought of our flight.
“Max—umm, wow, I don’t know what to say, I umm…” I worked hard to find the words to tell him I was scared.
Max’s face dropped straight. His lips curled down and his eyes lost their gloss of excitement. “I can rent a car—if this is too much? It’s not a big deal; I just thought it would be an exciting way to celebrate your eighteenth birthday.”
As he wrapped his arms around me I could feel his need to make me feel loved on my birthday. It was his attempt to surprise me, and here I was letting my fear ruin a memorable moment.
“No, you don’t need to rent a car—I love it.” The words lodged in my windpipe as I spoke. I tugged at his shirt, waiting for him to lead me over to the frightening bird. He didn’t move.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” His hands swayed in the air toward the pilot and helicopter.
I swallowed. “Yeah, Max, I am. Now come on, let’s get out of here.” I caught his hand and tried to pull him toward me. He smiled and yanked me back to his chest.
“Happy Birthday, Wilson.” He leaned down and kissed me. His lips, sweetened by his words, were as reassuring as the sun’s warm beams on a brisk winter morning.
Max brushed his lips across my forehead before leading me to the helicopter. I couldn’t believe he’d been able to pull this off. Little did he know that getting me into the death trap was going to be a whole separate challenge—he didn’t know how grippingly terrified I was of heights.
Chapter Five
It only took the helicopter pilot pulling his headphones up from around his neck and flicking switches to get my heart racing and my blood pumping violently through my body. I chanted—okay I screamed in my head—to myself to suck it up and quit being a baby. Max noticed and snatched my hand. Funny, he didn’t even react to the apparent dampness that accompanied my grip.
The propellers struggled as they began to build the momentum they needed to lift us from the ground. The deafening whine of the motor and the thumping rhythm of the blades as they sliced through the thick Denver air were menacing. Max pulled on his headphones before pointing to the set that hung just above my head. I slipped them against my ears, working to make sure my hair was tucked behind the big cushy part that protected my hearing.
The rails of the helicopter scraped and dragged across the tarmac before we began to ascend toward the heavens. Fear swelled in my heart and clutched the bubble of panic that clogged my chest and robbed my breath. My hand tightened around Max’s and I felt him squeeze back.
Suddenly, there was nothing but blue sky enveloping us and the burden of the hammering blades that kept us afloat. Lines of sweat trickled and itched down the back of my neck. I couldn’t force myself to look down out the peek-a-boo window by my feet. I felt the same fear that had encompassed me when I was on the ski-lift with Wayne. The helicopter’s back and forth movements, the wind that rambled and shook the bolts holding plastic to metal—all caused me to drink shallowly from the stagnant air in our delicate bubble we occupied, hovering in the sky.
Max must have noticed how freaked I was when I grabbed the charm of my necklace and slid it ritually back and forth along it’s chain; or maybe it was the shade of white that flushed across my skin and made me look like a corpse. Either way, he unsnapped his five-harness seatbelt and slid close to me.
“You okay?” he shouted. I couldn’t answer him. I tried, but I couldn’t voice the words that filled my head with the terror of falling out of the sky. He rested his hand on my knee before sliding it up across my thigh. The warmth of his touch began to wrestle my fears back to the unsettled place they’d come from. I was able to force a smile. I guess it was enough—he nodded and started to point out landmarks below us the size of nickels and dimes. I tried to focus, but the idea of looking down at what we could possibly crash-land into just didn’t sit right with me. At least in a plane you have the chance of surviving—hell, maybe even walking away—but in a helicopter…I just couldn’t find the ability to feel safe.
When the helicopter jolted and dropped in elevation, a whoop-tee-whoo collected down in my pelvis, and I shrieked. My heart ended up in my throat and my eyes were floating somewhere above my head. My hands and feet tingled with rippling pressure that pulsated up my limbs, and every muscle in my body snapped rigid. I could honestly say—if I knew what it felt like to have my life flash before my eyes, I bet it just happened. I heard people say that images of your life blaze across your sight, like pictures in a slideshow, only faster. I saw my grandma in her casket, my mom driving away, my grandpa collapsed in his driveway, Emily jumping into Max’s arms, Max ignoring me in class, me crying into the leather couch in Cindy’s bathroom at her cabin; every feeling of inadequacy, abandonment, and inferiority inundated my body. Pretty sad that, when I thought I was going to die, it was all the crappy moments of my life that came flooding back.
Max bounced up and across to the other side of the bench seat we were on. But once he regained control of his weightless body, he scrambled back next to me and wrapped his arms around me. He pulled back my headset and pressed his mouth against my ear.
“Wilson, it’s okay. You’re safe. It was turbulence, that’s all,” his voice was sharp enough to pierce my eardrum. All I could do was nod.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I pressed my head against his mouth, and I closed my eyes, waiting for my birthday surprise to be over.
Forty minutes later, the helicopter started its descent to the Aspen Airport. Max held me the entire time. When he could, he would reassure me with stories about being a kid and riding in helicopters. And when he felt he needed to, he refreshed his grasp on me. The pilot insisted that Max buckle up, but Max wouldn’t let go of me until he knew I was okay. Finally, as we were about to land, Max snapped into his harness and grabbed my hand. His thumb, so soft, caressed the back of my hand. Relief flooded my entire body. I was so glad we were done with this part of our trip.
The helicopter teased and toiled with my emotions—elation that we were landing; apprehension that we had
to plunk down onto the tarmac. Why couldn’t there be a more delicate way to end the hell that danced across my psyche? With a vibrating thud, the rails of the helicopter met the huge, white outlines. The high-pitched whistle of the blades slowed to a muffled ringing, and to lengthen my hell, I had to wait for the pilot.
The minute the pilot okayed my exit, the headphones came off and the harness was released. The flimsy door that separated us from life and death swung open, and I hopped down to greet the tarmac with numb feet and wobbly legs.
The freezing air stung my lips and burned the passageway down into my lungs. Goose bumps, chased with chills, swelled up and down my arms. Within seconds, the tip of my nose and the edges of my ears found out just how cold Aspen was in December. The burst of Rocky Mountain air sparked memories of the first time I’d come to Aspen—last month—and Nick had jumped out of the SUV because he was so pissed at Cindy. She’d spent a good fifteen minutes trying to convince him to get back in before he froze to death. God I’m so glad I’m not stuck in a car with those two.
Max grabbed our bags and then gave a ‘thumbs up,’ signaling to the pilot that we were okay. I just kept walking away from the helicopter; I didn’t want to be anywhere near it as its blades wound back up to a hectic speed. The swirling wind thrashed dust and small rocks violently around us, and the whirl filled my ears with the rhythm of the helicopter getting ready to leave. Max got my attention, and with an exaggerated motion, pointed to a man sitting in a golf cart only big enough to fit a couple of people. Max pushed against my back, prompting me to jog far enough away before we turned and watched the helicopter ascend for departure. My hair snapped against my cheeks like the tips of sharp needles jabbing unrelentingly into sunburned skin.
The airport employee waiting on the tiny cart hurried to grab my suitcase from Max. In one smooth motion, he hurled it onto the back, then turned and grabbed Max’s duffle bag before shoving it next to my suitcase. Max helped me into the cart. I have to admit—it wasn’t the most luxurious ride, but at least I wasn’t hovering in the air in a flimsy death trap.
Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last Page 4