“HURRY UP, MOM! WE’RE LATE!” Rachel hollered from her bedroom as she scanned her remains for anything she may have missed while packing. It was a sad but true fact; Carol Porter was never on time.
Rachel stormed from her empty room into the hallway to her Mother’s office door. “Mom, are you ready?” She knocked once, “The plane leaves in an hour. We have to go!” Rachel shoved the door open and saw her Mother sitting at her desk. Her eyes were glossed with undeveloped tears, her nose was red, and in her hand she held a pink tissue, already saturated.
Rachel walked up to her. She knew. It didn’t need to be said. “I’m going to be okay, Mom.” Rachel vowed earnestly.
“I know. I know. You’ll be fine,” Carol chanted in a stuffy voice, wiping her nose again, “I’ve told that to myself a thousand times, both out loud and in my head. It just... it doesn’t make it any easier to let you go.” She sobbed, the tears ripening, and falling.
Rachel moved around the desk and sat in Carol’s lap, her arms around her neck, and held her head against her mother’s.
“I shouldn’t be doing this to you,” Carol disclaimed, “You have enough to worry about today without your driveling Mother making it worse.”
Rachel wiped the wetness from Carols face and held her to her breast, “Don’t be silly. Now, if you didn’t cry, then I would be upset. I know you care. I know you’ll call me every day, make sure I’ve remembered to eat well. At night, you’ll call to make sure my door is locked. We’ll write each other and rehash old times. I’ll never be too far away to hear you if you need me.”
Carol moved her fingers down her daughter’s long, thick hair. The youthful curls she had as a little girl had matured into shimmering waves of Brown. “This day always seemed so distant; I never actually had the courage to think that it would come. I never really had to.” She sniffled, the smell of Rachel’s perfume drifted from her blouse. It soothed her, like a weary child in a mother’s arms, only the roles had been reversed. “You are all that I have, and now you have to go away. It all passed by so fast. It’s fresh in my memory, the day I tried to teach you to walk. The first time I let you play outside by yourself. I don’t know where it all went to, but it’s gone. Now you’re a woman, and you’re so much more brave than I ever was. Not any thanks to me. If you would have followed in my footsteps, you’d be a walking tragedy.” They laughed quietly together as Carol continued, “But, I keep wondering what I could have done to have been a better Mother. I know I did a lot of stupid things.”
“Mom-“ Rachel intervened in an attempt to quiet her.
“NO! No. I did. I know I did. I wish I hadn’t taken your training wheels off your bike so soon. Maybe you wouldn’t have cracked your head on that parked car. I wish I hadn’t been so quick to punish you when you did something wrong. I could have told you how much I loved you more often. I could have held you more. I could have played with you in the backyard like you always wanted. I cannot do that now.”
Rachel consoled lovingly as she kissed her crown lightly, “You are a fantastic Mother, and I am so glad that you are mine. You have given me so much in my life, you’ve taught me so much, and for that I will always be thankful. You’ve always kept me safe and warm, protected me, sustained me, and given me the life that not many people have had. Our weaknesses have brought us closer than ever. We can laugh and cry together. We can make mistakes and know that the other is there to kiss it better. I can look at you, and I can be proud that you are my Mom, and I hope that someday, you can be just as proud of me.”
Carol looked into her child’s face, “I already am. I just want to keep you in frilly dresses and pigtails. Okay?” Again, the laughed a hearty laugh, it lifted the stress a little and made them more capable of carrying on.
“Let’s go.” Rachel prompted as she held on to her Mom’s hand gently.
Carol stood from her chair and the started toward the door. In a moment of pure necessity, Carol grabbed Rachel and pulled her back to her, a hug one final time. She closed her eyes and pretended that this woman was still a little girl. “I love you, Rachel,” She wept as she held her as close as she could, securely.
“I love you, too.” Rachel cried, unable to fight that contagious sadness.
Carol let her go, and the walked down the hallway, descended the staircase, and to the front door where Rachel’s luggage sat awaiting her. Still trying to shed her pain, Carol made strong, “Have you got everything?” She asked, her nose still plugged.
“Yeah. I got it.” Rachel replied as she pulled open the front door, “Have you got the keys?”
“Got’em.” Carol answered as she took two of Rachel’s bags, moving past her out the door.
Rachel picked up her last two suitcases and stayed for a few seconds longer. It was just to remember the way that old house felt on the threshold. There sat the desk in the foyer. The entrance into the living room on the left of the short hall, directly across was the door to the dining room. The ceiling fan just above was still moving, very slowly. There was a family portrait hanging just beside her, depicting a once happy couple, and a small, chaste girl, prim in her white, frilly dress, and pigtails. She breathed in that familiar air one last time. A slight trace of antiquity accompanied it. Old and worn in was that house. This would be the last she would see of it for a time. Quietly, she said her good-bye’s to that creaky fourth step. To that torn piece of wallpaper. To all the sights that rendered her as part of them. To all the ghosts of her past; The child that ran down the downstairs hall. The Father who caught her from the around the corner, lifting her in his arms and swinging her around as he stared into his own eyes.
With all of this, all she held so dear, she turned and left, closing the door at her back. The solitude that was left behind, the absence of sound, was the house as it wept for the girl it kept from birth. She watched it as they pulled out of the drive, noticed the largeness of it. It was a lovely home. And to say it didn’t cause her a great deal of grief to know that she would not be returning, would have been a lie.
She also noticed as Carol veered to the left at the end of the street. She figured it to be a error made due to her anguish, so she was kind enough to point it out. “You just turned left. We have to get on the highway, that’s the other way,” She said as she stuck a piece of gum into her mouth. Though she had never been on an airplane, it was well known that gum aided the pressure. She wanted to get a head start.
“I know,” Carol defended, “We have to pick up Corey and his Father. Tim and I thought it would be nice if we all drove together. That way you and Corey can spend your last few minutes in Sadie with each other,” She informed gleefully, as if she were doing Rachel a great deed.
Rachel swallowed her chewing gum. Her mouth dropped into her lap.
“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING!” Corey yelped in disbelief. “Please tell me that you’re not serious.” He drawled in scalding shock.
His Father shot him a crooked glare from behind the box of clothes he held, “What? Why is that such a surprise? You and Rachel are friends. I thought you’d want to see her before you left,” He explained as carried the package downstairs.
Corey rushed after him, “But- I should be with you today, Dad. Why do we have to drive with them? Can’t we go by ourselves?” He stammered in a panic.
Timothy dropped the box beside the front door, “You will be with me, Corey. But is just seemed crazy for us to take two cars to the same place when your flights leave ten minutes apart. It will give you the opportunity to say good-bye.” He said as he pulled his jacket from the closet, then handed Corey his. “Put this on. It’s chilly.”
“I already said good-bye.... yesterday. I don’t want to say it again. I’ll sound repetitious. What I said yesterday won’t mean as much as it did then if I say it again today because I’ll simply repeat the same thing I said then.” Corey spat, half understanding what he was saying.
“Huh?” Timothy asked confused.
“Let’s just leave without th
em.”
“That’s ridiculous, Rachel. I will not turn around! Listen to yourself.” Carol retorted, refusing to do as asked.
“You don’t understand MOTHER!” Rachel growled through tight lips.
“What?! What don’t I understand?” Carol questioned befuddled.
Rachel threw herself back against the seat anxiously, “I just want to get out of here. I want to get to the airport and leave. They have a car. Why do we have to be their chauffeur?”
“I told you why. Don’t you want to see Corey before you leave?”
“NO. I know what he looks like.”
“What’s the matter with you? Did you two have a fight?” Carol asked concerned.
“It’s a long story and I don’t want to talk about it,” Corey huffed, standing at the kitchen sink. He took a drink of water, hoping to calm his nerves. He turned and handed the glass to his father for no particular reason.
“Well, then this will give you two a chance to make amends. No one wants to leave angry.” Timothy advised as he tossed the glass into the sink and followed his son into the living room.
“I don’t want to make amends. I just want to forget the whole thing ever happened. Did you get my tote bag? I hope we’re taking our car. I’m not sitting beside her. I may have to get violent and I hate violence. Not that a good slap in the head wouldn’t benefit that-“
“BITCH?” Carol squealed, “Don’t talk about your friends that way, honey. It’s rude. Corey’s a sweetheart.”
Rachel ran her hands over her face in exasperation, “Oh my God, Mother!” She moaned in torment, “Things have changed between Corey and I. We are not friends anymore!”
“YES YOU ARE!” Carol demanded, “People get into little tiffs all the time. You’ll get over it, and I suggest you start right now!”
“Why? So it doesn’t get in the way of your relationship with Tim?” Rachel asked sternly.
“That has nothing to do with it,” Carol upbraided, “Timothy is my friend. Friends are important Rachel. Finding a true one is like finding gold, extremely rare and very precious. I know Corey cares a lot about you.”
“Stop lecturing me, Mother. I don’t hate him. I just don’t want to continue this. That’s all.” She said, turning toward the window as they drove onto Harrington Street.
“Continue what?” Timothy asked.
“This conversation.” Corey answered as he maneuvered the strap of his heavy bag over his shoulder. It felt like it weighed more than he did.
“You’re serious.” Timothy concluded disheartened.
Corey picked up on his unfavorable reaction, and even began to feel somewhat responsible for it, like he had let him down. “Yeah.”
Accepting Corey’s reply, he sighed quickly, in and out, then picked up the rest of the bags from the floor.
They scrambled around aimlessly, each trying to carry as much as they possibly could when they heard the beeping of a car horn out front. Corey, who had been bent over, trying to grip the sides of a box, jolted and stood erect, as though he had just been shot in the back. “Is that them?” He queried nervously.
“Who else would it be?” Timothy responded, as he moved to the door.
“God forbid a cab?”
Timothy waved at Carol to acknowledge her arrival and retreated back to Corey, “Okay. I know you and Rachel are at odds right now, but, Corey, Please don’t make a scene in the car.”
“What do you consider a scene?” Rachel quipped in jest.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Rachel concurred agitated. “I won’t say a word to him.”
“Good!” Carol bounced, “Now get in the back seat.”
“Huh?”
Timothy helped Corey haul his belongings out to the car, loading them in the trunk. “I’m not sitting back there with her.”
“Yes you are.” His Father informed to the contrary.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes... you are!”
“If you like her so much, you sit back there with her.”
“You said you wouldn’t make a scene.”
“I’m not making a scene. This is not a scene. This is a debate. You want me to sit next to her and I don’t want to. It’s not a scene.”
“Get in the car, Corey.” Timothy ordered.
“I’m getting up front. I like Carol.”
“Don’t you dare.” Corey began walking to the front passenger side door. He waved at Carol through the window and then reached for the handle.
His Father darted to his side, standing in front of the door, preventing Corey from opening it.
“Why are you being so difficult?” He scolded.
Corey grinned at him, “I’m not being difficult. You’re being difficult.”
“Get in the back seat.” Timothy contended.
“No. You get in the back seat.”
“Don’t do this,” Timothy pleaded in embarrassment.
“Don’t do what? I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re making a scene.”
“You’re making the scene. You’re the one standing in front of the door.” Corey assessed proudly.
Timothy leaned downward to the closed window and grinned widely at Carol. He held up his pointer finger, denoting that he would only be a moment longer. He raised up and met Corey with a steadfast glare. “Corey... If you don’t get in the back seat... right now... I swear I will put you there myself.” He seethed in an almost humorous manner.
Corey drew back in amusement. He released the door handle, and nodded cooperatively, “Okay... fine.” He opened up the back door and crawled in.
Timothy situated himself in, and buckled his lap belt. He kissed Carol on the cheek. “Everything okay?” Carol wondered aloud.
“Yeah. Great. Ready to roll.” Timothy prompted happily.
Carol pulled the car into gear and they drove away.
The Sadie airport was about a thirty minute drive from where they began. To most, it’s a fast paced commute, but to the four prisoners, trapped in that all to small vehicle, it was an eternity. Rachel was pressed against the door, putting as much space between herself, and Corey, as possible. She fixed her eyes on the objects outside her window, as not to accidentally make visual contact with him.
Corey followed the exact same method. With one leg crossed over the other, he managed to have his back toward her at all times. Carol glanced in her rearview. It struck her as quite funny, the way they had left such a gap between them, as if one had a contagious virus.
She shot Timothy a comical look, and saw that he was just as entertained by them. They rolled their eyes simultaneously.
Thomas searched frantically for a piece of writing paper. Upon finding a blank envelope, he sat down at the kitchen table and pulled a pen from the tin can in the center. Time seemed to be moving so fast on this morning. He had so much to do, and, although his bags were packed and sitting at the foot of the stairs, his father hadn’t come home yet. The clock had become his rival, calling his attention to it every few minutes. It even sounded like it was ticking louder than before. Nagging at him. He knew he had to get his things, call a taxi, and be at the airport before Corey’s flight left. First, he had to write a letter to his father. He had a general idea of what to say, but he needed to be precise about what he left his Father with. He wanted him to know that, despite all that had gone wrong over the years, he still loved him. He wanted him to know that he found the ability to look past all of the conflicts, and prayed that he would as well. So many thoughts hurdled through his brain all at once.
The pen hadn’t even touched the paper before the doorbell chimed twice. He quietly cursed it and jumped from his seat. He bounded through the living room and jerked open the door, only to find Lola Collier standing there.
“Hello, my darling, “ She greeted as she handed him a white paper bag. “I know you’re leaving, so I won’t keep you. I’ve t
aken the liberty of packing a lunch to hold you until you’ve reached your destination. Airplane food is simply dreadful,” She sang melodramatically as she threw an arm into the air.
Thomas held open the door for her, “Come in, please.” He invited, giving no more consideration to his time frame.
Lola strutted past him and looked around, “What a lovely abode. I must say, you have a very good decorator.”
“My Mother did it years and years ago before she left. My Father never changed it, so it’s hardly modern.” He explained as he took a look inside the bag.
Noticing his interest, Lola informed him of its contents, “Oh, don’t take it out of the foil until you’re ready to eat, dear. It’ll get stale. I made some Caviar, and some crumpets, just as a snack. There’s also a thermos of Souchong. It’s a Delicacy in some countries. Those chefs on airplanes have no refinement to speak of. Most of their cooking is done in-“ She cupped her hands over her mouth and whispered loudly as if she were about to swear, “A microwave.” She shook her head and made a disgusted face, repulsed by the mere mention. “It’s just ghastly!”
Thomas faked a smile and placed the bag on the table next to him. “Thanks, Lola. I appreciate this. Sounds yummy” He lied.
Lola walked to the bottom of the stairs and studied the bags that rested there, “All packed and ready, I see.” She observed.
“Yeah. I have to call a cab because my Father isn’t here yet and I only have a few minutes before I’m too late. Corey will never forgive me if I’m late. I’d never forgive myself.”
Lola swept around, excited by the opportunity, “Problem solved. I’ll drive you.”
“Would you?”
“I wouldn’t hear of it any other way.” She hummed merrily as she steered herself to the open door, “I’ll just grab my keys and we’ll be off.”
She came to a dead halt as she watched a man getting out of the bright Red Sedan that had been parked on the curb, directly in front of Thomas’s house. “Thomas, I believe your Father just arrived.” She announced.
Thomas stepped up to her side, “That’s not my Father.”
He was a tall fellow, with thinning, dark hair. He wore a neatly pressed business suit with a matching tie and broad shoulders. In his hand he carried a bright yellow folder, with an envelope sticking out from the top.
“You Thomas Bradford?” The man interrogated as he scaled the porch steps in one large stride.
“Yeah.”
He held out his hand to shake Thomas’s, “I’m Steven Porter. Pleasant County District Attorney. I was wondering if I might have a word with you.” He requested in such a formal way that it made the hair’s on Thomas’s neck stand on end. It felt as though he were being constricted by an entity far more powerful than he, squeezing the breathe from him. The only time a man in a suit had ever wanted anything to do with him was when they were figures of authority. A Parole Officer. A Juvenile Councilor. The terror that manifested was merely instinctive, though, this time, he was pretty sure he had done nothing wrong.
Apprehensively, he shook the man’s hand. Mr. Porter gave Lola an awkward look, and then fixed himself on Thomas again, “May I come in?” He asked.
Thomas moved aside, making a clear path for the man to cross.
Lola took his arm and whispered in his ear, “He’s a politician, dear. Probably right wing conservative. If he asks for money, tell him you already gave to the Democrats. Send him running with his tail tucked between his legs. I’ll go get the keys. I won’t be but a moment.” Then, she scurried off.
Thomas closed the door and leered at Mr. Porter, “I gave to the Bright Winged Democratics,” He announced confidently.
“I’m sorry?” Mr. Porter asked dumbfounded. “I already gave. I can’t afford to save all the birds.” Thomas stated.
Mr. Porter pursed his lips to muzzle a rising laugh. Forcing it into submission, he walked into the Living room, “Unfortunately, Thomas, I’m here for a very different reason.” He took a seat on the sofa, as if it was his, and sat the file down on the coffee table. He began shuffling through the papers. “It seems that a very delicate situation has risen. I don’t usually tend to these matters personally, but-“ He suddenly realized that Thomas had not joined him. He was still lurking in the foyer, watching him from the archway. Mr. Porter, being a most perceptive man when it came to those who were not close to him, saw that Thomas was a bit intimidated. Still questioning the purpose of his visitor. “It really is important that you listen.” Mr. Porter pressed.
Thomas stalked his way to the couch and sat down, “I- I’m leaving for school today. I really don’t have much time, I have to get to the airport,” he asserted politely.
“I’ll be as brief as possible,” Mr. Porter said as he lifted a pink sheet of paper from the tabletop. He wiped his hand over his stubbly mouth, “I don’t quite know how to go about this, Thomas. This is a rare occurrence, and since most of the members of my firm are unequipped to handle such a case, I was appointed.” He took a deep breath, obviously leading up to something. He squirmed, as if trying to find the proper words.
Thomas eyed him, his concern growing, “What. What’s wrong?”
“This is not easy for me to say. I have a daughter of my own, and-“ He paused, as if the mention of her caused a certain aching.
Thomas hurried to a conclusion, coming much closer to the man he, just a few seconds ago, couldn’t get far enough from, “Is this about my Dad? Is my Dad okay? Where is he?” He grilled anxiously, practically on the verge of hostility. He yanked the pink paper from the man’s hand.
“That’s a copy of the deed to this house. It’s been transferred into your name.” He picked up the folder and set in Thomas’s reach, “You’ll also find the Registration and titles to two vehicles, as well as Five Hundred Thousand dollars in a savings account established in your name. You also have Ten Thousand Dollars in bonds that matured over a year ago, and-“
“Is my Dad dead?” Thomas asked somberly, not looking at the man, or even blinking an eye. He was in a state of shock.
Mr. Porter didn’t answer straight away. Perhaps it was because it was too difficult to say, or even comprehend. “No. He’s not dead, Thomas”
Thomas had no reaction.
With a note of sympathy in his voice, he went on, “This was all carried out through a series of legal representatives of your Fathers. He handed over everything to you. His stock portfolio, a property in Hartford-“
“Where is he?” Thomas asked mechanically, no feeling.
“I- I can’t tell you that.”
“Why?”
“He... uh... he doesn’t want us to reveal that to anyone.” The man sat upright, as if to defend this action, “I wish I could tell you Thomas, but I would be breaking the law. It would be different if you were under age, but since you’re eighteen, there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”
The paper fell to the floor as Thomas lost all strength. He had been abandoned, first by his Mother, now by his Father. Inside, he cried and screamed. Outside, he was stone.
Lola’s impeccable timing brought her through the door at the worst possible moment, “I’m Baaak, my love.” She declared thearically, coming into the livingroom. “We’re in a hurry Mister Politician Man, we have a plane to catch.” She sashayed over to Thomas, taking his arm, trying to budge him, “Come doll, we must leave before the day grows too old and leaves us behind. Come, come!” She called. When he had no reply, nor even an eye in her direction, her chipper attitude turned to something more of worry. She dropped the car keys into Thomas’s lap in a final effort to revive him, “You can even drive.”
Mr. Porter stood quickly, “There’s some papers there for you to sign. I’ll leave them with you along with a self-addressed stamped envelope for your convenience. Unless you have any questions concerning the acquisitions, I’ll be on my way. I have someplace that I have to be. “ He waited for an answer, but did not get one. “My number is in th
ere. If you like I can refer you to a social worker or a financial counselor.”
“No.” Thomas refused quietly.
Feeling he could do no more for the boy he had come to pity, he left. As he passed by Lola she hissed at him. What had he done to her Thomas?
She waited for him to leave before she took a seat next to her beloved friend, “Are you okay?” She asked softly.
“My Father is gone.” He retorted blankly.
“Oh, no!” Lola gasped in horror, “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. You know, my Father died when I was twelve, and it was the worst-“
“He’s not dead.” Thomas corrected abruptly. “He left me. He gave me the house... everything he had.”
Lola could remember only a handful of times in her life when she had been rendered speechless, she would add this to those moments. She uttered all that came to mind, “Oh.”
“Oh my God,” Thomas wept, now frightened. He had tried to shield himself from the sharpness of the impact, but now it had hit him and he cried, “What am I going to do? He left me. He left me.” He repeated again and again, hoping that he would find some sense in it, as he cried harder. “He left me... he left me...”
Lola put her arm around him and pulled him close to her, cradling him, “Oh dear...”
He wrapped himself around her, trembling, and she let him cry on her shoulder. She patted his back gently and whispered to him, “Let it all out. Just let it all go.”
“No!” Thomas said, taking himself out of her warming embrace. He wiped his eyed, “I don’t want this! I DON’T WANT THIS!” Thomas shouted, as he stood up fast. He kicked the coffee table hard and it topped over. “I DON’T WANT THIS!” He screamed, his face red, tears streaming downward. He turned and shoved the china cabinet from the wall using a strength he never realized he possessed. The inlaid glass shattered as it fell on its face, the contents spraying outward. “I don’t want it. I don’t want it.” He cried as he punched the wall hard and then collapsed against it, melting to the floor.
Lola stood slowly and carefully moved toward him. “Thomas...”
“Why do people do this to me?” He sobbed, “Why do they also walk away. Am I that bad?”
“No, Sweetheart.” Lola soothed, coming to the floor beside him. “I don’t know why he did it, Thomas. But you’re not alone.” She said as she rested her hand on his shoulder, “It’s the fates. They’re keeping you.”
“Keeping from what?”
“From happiness. From your destiny. Life isn’t about what other people do to you, Thomas, it about what YOU do with your life. It’s about finding your purpose and achieving it.”
“What if this is my destiny? Having people I love leave me? They always leave. He was all I had, and he left me. He left me alone.” He cried again, burying his face in his hands, trembling. “You’re not alone, Thomas. You are one of the lucky few... who are loved.” She laid her head on his back as he sobbed heavily, “You’re loved.” The keys in his lap fell to the floor alongside the pink paper. The clattering echoed, faded, but had gone unheard.
From the observation deck of the Sadie Airport, Corey watched as several passengers boarded a tiny plane that sat on the runway. He glanced up at his Father who stood next to him, a curious expression filling his face. “This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. That’s so small. If that thing goes down, we’re all goners. Whatever happened to the big planes?”
“That’s a commuter plane, Corey,” Timothy assessed, “It’s not meant to go long distances. It’ll take you to a larger Airport where you’ll get on one of the planes that will take you to San Francisco.”
“How many people do you think fit into that matchbox?” Corey asked.
“It looks like an eight seater. Don’t worry about it. You’ll be fine. People travel on them all the time.” He comforted to no avail.
“You just never hear about the ones that drop from the sky.” Corey snapped. “Ask Amelia Earhart. She flew in one of them little things. Oh, that’s right. SHE’S MISSING! Never found. Gone.”
Timothy laughed at him, “Well, I think we’ve come far in the aviation department since 1937.”
“Oh, that makes me feel better. Just one question; why am I getting on a rickety old plane that looks like it was crafted from the wreckage? It’s an omen, Dad. I don’t want to die in a fiery ball of tin foil.”
“You’re not going to die.” Timothy promised as he walked away from him and sat in a chair next to Rachel.
The chairs were positioned in a giant square facing outward. In the center there was a jungle-like menagerie of fake plants, all dusty and withered. It was beyond Carol how a fake shrub could wither. On the other side, she saw the Cavanaugh family. Excited to see them, she began waving her hand spastically. “Mary!” She called to Mrs. Cavanaugh.
Rachel looked up from her magazine. She turned around and saw them huddled around Gabe. She grabbed her Mother’s hand, forcing it down, “NO! MOM! NO!” She pleaded loudly.
Carol retreated begrudgingly, “What?” She yelped, “Gabe is over there.”
She stood up, “Let’s go say hi,” she suggested quite innocently as she started away.
Rachel yanked her back hard, “NO! She bellowed irritated.
“Just sit down. Please.”
“Oh, Rachel. You’re so weird.” Carol complained. “When did you ever get so weird? He’s you’re boyfriend. Don’t you at least want to see him off.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, Mother,” Rachel contested, “And I’m not weird.”
Carol shot her a queer look, as if to say otherwise.
“I’m not weird!” Rachel argued offensively as she went back to her reading. “I’m not.” It was difficult to concentrate on her tabloid now that her Mother had brought Gabe to her attention. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she even cared that he was there, and she fought it. She despised herself for even wondering if he was aware of her close proximity. Was he looking? She pushed her eyeballs as far to the side as they would go, until they hurt, just to peek. She couldn’t see anything. Discreetly, she shifted to the side, her back toward her mother. She peeked over her the top of the magazine and saw that, indeed, he was looking at her.
Immediately, she turned away, shunning him. “Oh, God,” She mumbled with dread.
“What?” Timothy asked beside her.
“Nothing,” Rachel said dismissively. She stood from her chair and walked across the lobby to the drinking fountain. She held back her hair and twisted the nozzle. The water felt cool against her lips, temporarily medicating the tear in her heart. At least it took her mind from it, for a while.
She paid no attention to the figure standing beside her. She had only caught a glimpse of the form briefly, realizing someone was waiting to use the fountain. Then, a voice. “I wanted to say Good-bye.” It was Gabe.
Rachel froze for a second. He had followed her here. She rose, trying to seem unaffected by his presence. She wiped the wetness from her mouth, and looked at him. She regretted ever doing that. Even casting her gaze upon reminded her how much that face meant to her. How she once adored it. How weak she was, and still, no matter how she willed herself to leave him standing there, she could not.
Gabe stared longingly into her careless eyes. “I won’t patronize you by spouting apologies you won’t believe. I don’t blame you. I just wanted to say good-bye.”
Her voice caught in her throat, as a diverse collection of emotions took their stations. She would not cry, that was not even feasible now, for the furor met the sadness with equal strength. It would be so simple to say it and walk away, but the words did not come easy, mostly because of the despicable fact that she wanted to be near him, only for a moment. Denying herself that, she purged her farewell, as if she didn’t care. “Bye.” She chimed as she did an about face and started in the opposite direction, back toward her chair.
She hadn’t walked five feet before she heard him again. Words she wished she wouldn�
�t have heard. Words she had hoped she was immune to. It hadn’t been long enough.
“I love you.”
She stopped.
“I know it makes you sick to hear me say it. I know you think it’s a lie, but it’s not.” He continued.
She rolled her eyes in spite of him, pretending to be insulted.
“But, if I don’t say it now, I may never have the chance again.”
She stood idle for a while, allowing his voice to reverberate through her. She knew that Gabe did love her once. A long time ago. That childhood romance was what she mourned. She could not act as if she had never loved him, as though she had escaped injury. He was not hers any more. She would give him no redemption.
Only now did she face him. She even found a proud smile, folding her arms. “Fuck you.” She sneered with satisfaction. She swung around, and shed him like an old skin.
“What time is it?” Corey asked as he approached Carol.
She glanced at her watch, “Ten fifteen.”
Corey looked into the crowds that filled the lobby, “Thomas should have been here by now,” He stated to himself, not requiring an answer.
“He’ll be here,” Carol promised without a doubt.
Just then, a booming voice broke through the room from inlaid intercoms in the ceiling. “Passengers for Flight One Twenty are now boarding at Gate Four. All passengers report to the Gate with your tickets.”
Carol jumped up to meet Rachel just as she reclaimed her chair. “That’s you Rachel.” Carol barked hurriedly, jerking her back up as she sat down.
Rachel, looking quite surprised, appeared amazed, “That’s me? She questioned, hoping it was a mistake.
“Yeah, you have to board,” Carol said as she lifted Rachel’s carry-on bag from the carpeted floor.
Rachel scrambled to gain her composure. This had come so sudden.
Corey watched her frantic expressions shift from uncertainty. He could see her fast exchanges of fear, anticipation, and discord. Carol had already walked to the podium that stood at the mouth of a glass door. A huge iron staircase would lead her to the pavement below, where she would walk to her tiny plane.
Rachel tossed her leather backpack over her shoulder. As she moved in front of Corey, she paused, as if wanting to say something. He secretly prayed she would. If she didn’t, he would. And then, just as she turned her head to him, a voice was called from the background.
“RACHEL! Her Father summoned as he breasted the crowd, coming closer.
Rachel stepped past Corey to meet him, “Daddy?” She asked in disbelief.
He took her into his arms and lifted her off the ground, spinning in a full circle. Then placed her back on the ground. “What are you doing here?” She questioned.
“I came to see my little girl off! There’s nothing wrong with that is there?”
“But... I mean... I haven’t seen you in months.” She pointed out.
“I’ve been busy,” he replied, as though it were an amiable excuse. He smiled at her in unrestrained delight, expecting her to be just as happy to have him there. She was not, and she made that obvious without saying a word.
She looked back at her Mother, who was watching them closely. “I hope you didn’t inconvenience yourself,” She slurred, not half as stupid as he probably hoped her to be.
“No! Not at all. I just took an early lunch, that’s all. It’s a challenge to find the time to do anything outside of work today.” He informed, as if he wanted some reward for the effort. When he didn’t get his desired response, when she didn’t grab his arm and squeal and flutter around him like a drunk butterfly, he resorted to other means. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” He whined, trying to make her feel guilty.
Again, she looked back at her mother then returned to her Father. “I don’t know.”
Mr. Porter took her shoulder and gave it a rough shake. It was his way of showing affection. Ignoring something he didn’t want to hear by acting as if it hadn’t meant anything. It was more convenient than permitting any internal disharmony. He didn’t want to be held accountable for any of his actions. It was easier to walk away from them. A hit and run. “Come on. I’ll see you off.” He put his arm around her and walked her to the podium where he greeted Carol with only her name, and a polite nod of the head.
The bleached blond stewardess tending the counter took to rushing them, “We’re on a schedule.” She squalled sternly, in a high tone, not unlike a crow.
Carol could have said much, given the fact that this snappy stewardess may have easily been mistaken for a costumed stripper. She had absolutely no manners, and fake tits. This silicon stuffed broad probably knew her ex. But of course, Carol was a lady. She gave no reciprocation to either the busty attendant, or her nauseating husband. Instead, she busied herself with her daughter.
“I already gave the stewardess your ticket.” She handed Rachel her other bag, “You’ll be walking down some stairs. Make sure you hold on to the railing. You don’t want to fall. Now, when you get on that plane, make sure you get a window seat. That way we can wave to each other, okay?” She instructed in a frenzy.
With all the overwhelming hysteria exploding around her, Rachel fell slowly deaf to all of her surroundings. It became so quiet. So beautifully, soundless. It was then she saw him again from across the room. Gabe. Standing there, watching her amidst this flurry of tension. She slowly peered over her shoulder to Corey, who was also staring at her. There was still so much left undone. So many loose ends she believed she could tie, and forget. In doing so, it had only made this moment more painful.
As Corey looked away, walking to a random chair, falling into it, Angie entered the Lobby. The first thing she laid eyes on was Rachel, and that’s where they rested. Then, Angie turned from her, perhaps in shame, and moved on.
Without any respect to Rachel’s preoccupied state, Carol took her daughter’s face into her hands and kissed her hard on the forehead. That’s when the ruckus returned. The sound had found its way back.
“You okay?” Carol asked.
“Yeah,” Rachel sighed, the unsteadiness a dead giveaway. “I’m okay.” She added.
“Miss!” The Stewardess cawed, “I can’t wait any longer.”
Carol kissed her again, “Okay, baby. Don’t forget to call me right when you get there. I’ll wait by the phone.” She toyed with her child’s hair, feeling the texture, placing it over her lapel.
“Okay,” Rachel agreed.
“I’ll... talk you soon.”
She figured that was her cue to walk from her Mom, but she could not bring herself to leave her. She threw herself into Carol’s arms and wept, “I’m scared.”
“Me too. Me too.”
And then, she did just as she had to do. She removed herself from her Mother’s safe arms, and started toward the door.
Mr. Porter yelled to her, “Don’t forget to write!”
She pressed down the handle of the door, barely turning, but making sure she was heard, “If I can find the time.”
Then, she was gone.
Through her tears, Carol looked at her ex and found quick, muffled snorts slipping through the fabric of the tissue she held over her mouth. She was laughing.
On the cusp of a new life, Rachel stepped against the currents of wind that blew fiercely over the open air field. This was it, and yet, in the back of her mind, she knew it was far from over. Going away, accepting a strange land as her home would be harrowing. She wondered if life in New York would be as deviously complex as it was here. It was reason enough to keep her eyes open. Her days of fantasy living were done. Perhaps Sadie, and the events that had taken place, were nothing more than an unseen educator. Her lessons were in survival, and she had. Sometimes, she didn’t believe she would, but she had. Leaving was her crowning achievement. The plane she boarded was her blue ribbon. The air was hers. Now she would be taken into the sky, look down on all she had ever known, and bid it ado. She knew that, from way
high up, Sadie would be nothing more than a blade of grass in an endless pasture. She wouldn’t see the details. No faces. No flaws. It was the same as being there. Nothing was ever as it seemed. More secrets than souls. A place most would never hear of. A village with nothing to set it apart from the rest of the world. People, lost is the solitude it offers, in the beauty it holds.
She had lived there once.
Come Josephine, In my flying machine, Going up she goes... Up she goes.
The engine began to whir. drowning out the noise around her. There she sat, tucked deep into her seat, alone inside herself. Why wasn’t she happy? How could she miss them already.
Balance yourself, like a bird on a beam, In the air she goes, There she goes.
She watched her Mom waving from the window above. Beside her stood Corey. He put one hand against the cool glass. An gesture? Maybe. Rachel laid her palm against the clouded porthole. Good-bye, Corey. All at once, she wondered what would become of him. Where would he be in the seconds she thought of him. She knew that he would stay with her, crossing her mind on rainy days. In breezes of tranquility. Whenever she heard an old song, or saw a boy to beautiful for words. She would remember him. Without knowing it, he had been an instrument of change. Now she was leaving him, along with everything else.
It was here, deafened by the roar of the plane, that she found the importance of this very breath. The breath that divided time. Everything was separated by this definitive second. A before, and an after. The after, and all it held, was calling her. She began to move, farther and farther from view. She could feel the slight flaws in the runway as she gained speed. Pulled from the hands of a place she knew only as home. “Good-Bye.”
Up, up, a little bit higher. Oh my, the moon is on fire. Come Josephine, in my flying machine, calling out a long Good-bye.
And then, she was carried away.
Corey’s hand slid down from the glass. Carol had run to take comfort in his Father’s arms. He stared at the sky, knowing she was there, somewhere, though he could not see her. He took solace in knowing that someday, some day in their future, long after Sadie, they would meet again.
He turned from the window and saw Gabe standing a few feet back from him. A clear distance away from the window, where he wouldn’t see her leave, but he would know she was gone. He did love her. When he realized that Corey was watching him, he hovered in his sight for a second. Unable to stay there, riddled with guilt, he hung his head. He didn’t want to know Corey could see him. So, ever so slowly, he walked from his eyes, only to cry for what he once had. Once... during a long, hot, summer. A summer sentenced to his past. Only one place to go from here.
“Flight Three Hundred to Columbus, Ohio is now boarding at Gate Six. All Passengers please report to the gate with your departure tickets.”
The voice blared once more. Instantly, Corey knew that Angie would be on that plane. He scanned the room for some evidence of her. There she stood at the opposite end of the room.
“Bye-Bye baby doll!” Dolly belted out, heaving and sobbing dramatically. “Momma’s gonna miss you so much.”
Angie gave her a hug, “I’ll be back, Mom. It’s not like I’m going off to war.”
Dolly’s face was bright pink. Her mouth had been permanently stretched at the sides as she bawled harder. She snorted every time she tried to breathe. She seemed as though she were having some sort of attack. “You - You - Don’t - have to - go - if - you - don’t want to.” Dolly gasped between her words. When finished, she screeched out loud, helplessly. Her eyes had swollen and became narrow slits.
“Don’t cry, Momma. I have to do this. It’ll be good for me. You want the best for me, don’t you?” Angie asked, feeling not a bit embarrassed by her hormonal Mother.
“YEEEEEEAHHHH!” Dolly blurted, hating to admit it to herself. But, she did, and because of it, she cried more.
Angie wiped her Mother’s face, paying no attention to the thick mascara that had gotten on her hand, “Now, give me a kiss so I can go.”
Dolly mauled Angie’s head, kissing her four or five times. When she finally stopped, Angie had Vixen Red lip marks all over her face. It was unfortunate that Angie turned from her Mom as fast as she did. Maybe her Mother would have seen the spots, and wiped them off.
Angie handed her tickets to the attendant. It was also regrettable that, he being so busy, did not even extend and upward glance. Had he bothered, he would have let her know. As she walked to the door, fellow passengers gave her odd looks, but scrutiny was nothing new.
While she followed the line of people across the paved lot, she tried to be as casual as possible. No looking back. “Ohio State, here I come.” At least she was dressed for it.
Mr. Porter remained at the window. He noted all the nameless faces scurrying around below. The fuel carts. The mechanics. So much to observe, and yet all he could think of was Rachel. How he had wronged her. Would he ever get her back?
Corey threw his Father a spastic expression. His plane left in exactly ten minutes. “Thomas should be here. It’s almost Ten Thirty. What if he can’t find me? I can’t remember if I told him what gate I was at? What if he’s lost somewhere? Should I have him paged?” Corey spewed frenetically as he wrung his hands together nervously.
Timothy took close inventory of the people around them. No Thomas. “I don’t see him.”
“Well, keep looking. I know he’ll be here. He promised.”
As he said those words, Mr. Porter crept up behind him, “You wouldn’t be talking about the Bradford boy, would you?”
Corey swirled around, “Yeah. You know him?” It didn’t surprise him that Rachel’s Father knew him. In this town, everybody knew everybody.
Mr. Porter volunteered little sympathy, “I wouldn’t wait if I were you. He’s not coming,”
Corey’s breathing came to a fast halt as he explored the man’s proud face, as if he had taken some malevolent pleasure in saying this to him. Corey knew damn well it wasn’t true. “How would you know?”
Steven Porter raised his hands in surrender, “Hey, I’m just telling you so you don’t waste your time waiting.”
Corey rejected his concession immediately, “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Corey snarled in detest.
Timothy rose from his chair to stand at Corey’s side. He had heard everything Steven Porter had said, and actually entertained the potentiality. “Is everything okay?” He questioned Mr. Porter.
Feeling he could discuss it on more rational terms with Corey’s father, he expounded only vaguely. “He had some pretty substantial problems arise this morning. I hate to say it, but Thomas has been detained indefinitely.”
“What happened?” Timothy pressed dismayed. It irritated Corey that his Father would listen to such nonsense. He knew Thomas was coming.
“I’m not at liberty to say. I can tell you I was there this morning on some personal business-“ Timothy interjected, “Don’t give me any of that shit. I’m an attorney. I know about client privileges. This isn’t a damn courtroom, and Thomas is a close friend. Just tell us, what happened?”
Steven was taken aback by his abrasiveness. “I’m sorry.” And he walked away from them. Once again, the lawyer had overcome the human part of him.
Corey jumped at his Father in a panic, “Dad?!” He yelped, wanting him to discredit the horrible man who had so cruelly stirred him.
Timothy could give him no certain resolution. He dug in his pockets and handed Corey a quarter, “Go to the payphone. Call Thomas. Go now.”
Corey snatched the coin and barreled across the room to the telephone booth against the far wall. He inserted the quarter into the slot, but he was so beside himself, he could barely dial. Finally, it rang. Each ring drew him closer to hopelessness. “Please be there. Please. Please. Please.” He cried quietly. He let it ring a dozen times. No answer. Timothy and Carol waited beside him. As Corey gave up, he trembled and spoke. “He didn’t answer.” He stared s
traight ahead, doing his best to maintain his composure. He didn’t want to cry anymore. It was all about truth, about fate. He knew now that Thomas would not come. He wanted to run to his plane, fly it away himself, just to put as much distance between himself, and this town.
“Flight Three Twelve bound for San Francisco is boarding at Gate One. Passengers please report to the desk with your passes.” The hidden voice pounded his eardrums, like a last good punch. He appeared eerily undisturbed. A private earthquake had shaken him, brought the world down around him, and yet, he still stood. Imagine looking across the rubble of all that once held solid. Things you loved, things you enjoyed. People... places... all gone. Rachel. Thomas. Angie. His Father. Harrington, Friendships, lovers, all vanishing, one by one. He didn’t recall it hurting this much when he left San Francisco just six months ago. Back then, there wasn’t this much to leave behind. Now he was going back. He could remember crying for his home after seeing the smallness of Sadie. He never could have seen what lay ahead. That Sadie, small as it may be, was more dangerous than any city her had ever been to. Not because of guns, or gangs, or anything relative to that, but because of the darkness in daylight. The things no one sees. A thousands little stories of as many lives, all intertwining, all effected by one another. Ants in a glass encasement. That was Sadie. The outside world was obsolete. The less one knew the better. Corey had found his way here, now he had to find his way home.
Without a sound, he moved sluggishly through the crowd. A man, in hurry, slammed into him, knocked him off course, and then kept going. Corey didn’t care. He continued onward, lifting his bags from the seat. It was dream-like, the way all of these strangers raced to unknown destinations. People laughed, people cried. They hugged. Some were on telephones, some were huddled in circles. A few lived here, a few had just been visiting. There were those who were coming home. Others were leaving. Some would return. Others would not.
He made his way to the ticket booth and handed the steward his pass. The man stamped it, then handed it back to him. He turned back to his father, gazing at him in such a way, unsure of what to say.
His Father pulled him close to him, resting his head on Corey’s. “It’ll get better,” he vowed. “As long as I’m around, I’ll remind you of that. It always gets better. The heart takes the longest to heal, but it does.” Timothy felt blameworthy. It had been he who initiated this move. Forced Corey from his big world, where, when it all became to much, he could get lost. He couldn’t do that in Sadie. This place had altered him in many fashions. He had delivered his son into a surrogate reality, where he had been both beaten and scarred. It weighed heavy on Timothy; that his motives for coming here had been to transgress the painful ideas of his wife’s death. An escape designed more for him, than for Corey. Now, he had Carol, his firm was growing, and he had begun to find promise again. Corey had been lost in the shuffle. “I’m sorry I put you through this.” Timothy sighed, his voice careening through the strands of Corey’s dark hair. “Forgive me.”
Corey looked up into his sincere face, “I learned... to forgive... a long time ago.” He said somberly. He knew his Father meant well in bringing him here. It wasn’t as if he knew what awaited them.
“Whenever you need me, Son...” Timothy whispered.
“You’ll come. I know that. You always have.”
“I don’t know if I can leave you. I want to keep holding you, but I know I can’t do that. You wouldn’t be happy. You need to go where you can be happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
“I can be happy anywhere... as long as I have you, Dad.” With a final, fleeting smile, Corey stepped away from his beloved Father. As he came close to the door, he knew that once he crossed that threshold, nothing would ever be as it was. He hesitated for a long minute, his hands pressing lightly on the cold door handle. He thought of Thomas, and how much he had truly come to love him. How it seemed that some supernatural deity refused to let Thomas love him. It was so maddening, that even when someone wanted to love him, wanted to be with him, they were subjected to the funnel of adversity that spiraled around him. He was cursed. Damned to live a life unloved.
“What a load of shit.” He unconsciously declared out loud.
“Excuse me?” The old who stood behind him asked, aghast.
Corey began talking to himself, not caring who heard, “I do this to myself, you know? I procrastinate about what love means, how only the lucky people find it, blah, blah, blah..” He wiped his hand over his face hard. “I’m not going to do this anymore... there is so much more... so much more. I’m tired of being the protagonist of my own lovelorn drama. God, I must have sounded so whiney and weepy. It’s to grow up now Corey. Time to be brave. He loved you.”
He wasn’t really aware of the crowd that had begun to gather around him. Not to mention, he was blocking the door. But it wasn’t just the passengers who waited in line behind him. No one seemed to mind. They were listening to him closely.
“Who loved you?” The bald Old Man asked, his curiosity provoked?
“Thomas loved me,” Corey said, staring out at the runway, unaware of who he was answering.. “He loves me. It’s the first time someone ever loved me the way I’d always dreamed. Have you ever seen one of those old movies, where they sing about love, and dance around all in a trance. I always wondered what that would be like. I know that now. Never thought I would, but I do.” He turned to the faces staring at him. “Don’t let anyone tell you that it’s something that only happens in the movies, because that’s not true. It happens to people like us. Like you and me. The hardest part is just find him. That one single soul in a sea of a million, that’s meant just for you. It’s a terrible thing to go through. Almost impossible. But it happens!” He preached excitedly.
The Old Man grabbed hold of his wife, who stood next to him. She was a tiny, blue haired lady who probably had her hair dyed a different pastel shade every month. Under her arm rested a limp poodle with red bows on her crown. “This is my wife, Niva! We’ve been married for fifty two years. I know love!” He testified as he gave her an affectionate nuzzle.
A voice called from the back of the crowd, “I’ve been married for fifteen years,” A business man announced, holding up his briefcase to be recognized, “I couldn’t be happier.”
Another voice presented itself, “I met my true love on a Monday.” A hefty, middle aged man announced from underneath his baseball cap, “We were married that Friday. Ten years ago and still going strong!” He howled.
A short woman held up her hand, “Been with the same man for Eight years. The best years of my life!”
“Eighteen years.”
“Thirty-Four years.”
“Two years!”
The growing crowd applauded each testimony.
Corey moved closer to them, “But it’s never easy to find it. I had already taken myself out of the game when I moved here six months ago. Then Thomas came along. When I look back on it now, I knew I loved him from the moment my eyes met his.” Corey focused on a young woman holding an infant, “My heart told me it was him who I had been waiting for, but my head told me that I was kidding myself. I thought I was being my old, fanatical, melodramatic self. I didn’t believe he could ever feel the same way.” He found his way to the center of the circle that had been formed around him. He paused, looking down at the continuous patterns in the carpet, “But he did. And we kept it from each other for fear the other would laugh. Finally, when he told me how he felt- and it happened just the way it does in romantic stories, those ones that make your heart flutter. I had been proven wrong. So it’s all perfect, right? A happy ending.”
They cheered him on, whistling and raving on as if he were some accomplished celebrity. “It’s wrong.” Corey attested sadly, his voice diminishing to a subtle whisper, “Wrong.”
The onlookers hushed instantly, gawking at him with saddened expressions as though he had bonded with each of them, and they could feel his disarray. They waited f
or him to continue, but he didn’t. He remained quiet as moments from the past summer came back.
Finally, the steward entered his circle. The uniformed young man didn’t say anything for a moment, he simply stood there. Upon seeing him, Corey prepared himself for the worst. He had managed to get into to trouble one more time before leaving Sadie. He hoped he didn’t have to go to jail. He had heard about what happened to skinny little gay boys in jail.
“Well? What Happened?!” The steward bellowed in anticipation.
“Yeah! What happened,” A hidden lady yelled.
Corey stood absolutely still as he took in their faces, “Life. Life happened.” He replied. “It’s the end of the summer. I am here today because this is my flight to San Francisco. To my new beginning. He was supposed to go with me... even chose a school nearby so we could start over together. And then...” He paused, for this was where even he grew confused, “Something happened... Something always happens.” Corey walked back toward the door, “That’s it. That’s where it ends.”
He made his way back to the glass door, and this time, without hesitation, he pressed the handle and stepped out onto the iron staircase. He held the railing as he descended to the pavement below. He saw his plane sitting several yards away. The side panel had been pulled down, revealing four plastic steps on the other side. He would enter that capsule and it would carry him far away, just as a similar one had taken Rachel and Angie before him. Now, It was his turn.
With one foot before the other, putting on his bravest face, he disappeared into the craft. He met the pilot just inside the opening. He was a black man with a warm smile. His tag read; “MARCUS ADDAMS.” He took Corey’s ticket and pointed to a seat down the narrow aisle. There were eight seats, four on each side, just as his Father had predicted. Corey was the first one to board. He sidestepped his way to his seat, and, once there, pushed his bag beneath it. He arched his neck against the headrest and looked up at the arched roof of the cabin. It wasn’t but a few minutes before the other passengers began to board. One woman grabbed his hand as she passed, smiling kindly, before moving on. They must all think him a pity case.
The toothpick thin stewardess gave a well-practiced lecture on airplane etiquette. She pointed to the one exit, explained how the seatbelts worked, then took her own chair at the front, just outside the cockpit.
Corey looked out the window as the propellers began to spin rapidly, appearing to change directions, though it was just an illusion. He could feel the vibrations from the massive engine at his side, he jolted as the plane began to move. In just awhile, he would be soaring through the clouds. A sight he had been looking forward to. It was a bit metaphorical, how one can relate love to flying. Such a beautiful place to be, exhilarating. But if the something were to go wrong, you plummet to your death. Such a delicate balance, one to be treasured, indeed. He had that once.
Thomas hit the glass door in a fury. He paid no regard to the security guards who tried to stop him. Nothing could hold him back. As he cleared the stairs with leaps and bounds, he screamed with all his might. “COOORRRREEEY” His feet slammed against the concrete as he ran for everything his life depended on. He had to get to him. He had to reach him. If he had to find the ability to run faster than a plane, or even take flight, he would do it, for no one who knew the enormity of his love would doubt that he could.
“WAIT! STOP!” He begged as he waved his hands in the air. Thankfully, the airplane had just reached the runway, and had slowed a great deal.
The ‘No Smoking’ light came on above Corey, as the pilot’s voice filled the cabin. “Welcome to Flight Three Twelve. In about an two hour we’ll be descending into Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania where you will find your connecting flights to San Francisco, Los Angeles, and Sacramento. We’re next on the runway, so sit back, and enjoy the ride.”
Corey sat his hands in his lap as they began to go faster.
Thomas was almost there. He didn’t care if he had made a spectacle of himself. He was going to catch that plane if it was the last thing he would ever do. He couldn’t lose him. And if hell rose before him to stop him, if the pavement under him smoldered like fire, he would run faster and bear the wounds, just to see him. Though his legs ached and his heart raced, he kept on. “Corey!” He cried as he came alongside the plane, doing his best to keep up. “COREY!”
Corey took a magazine from the fold of the seat in front of him. He flipped through it carelessly, having no interest in actually reading it. And then, he heard a loud voice from the back of the plane. “Oh my God! Someone’s out there.”
Corey ignored her, as other passengers bolted from their chairs to rush to the windows. The stewardess stood abruptly, “SEATBELTS! Sit down! People, you have to take your seats. We’re taking off!”
No one listened. They all bargained for the best window to see out of. Out of curiosity, Corey looked. That simple decision to submit to a passing curiosity would prove to be the most valuable choice of his life. After that glance, the sands of fate shifted forever. It was then he saw Thomas running, screaming. He scrambled to unfasten his buckle, slung it from his waist, and darted upward.
“STOP!”
Thomas had fallen behind. Now he was on the runway, watching his lover prepare to ascend. Maybe it was stubborn faith, or sheer will that kept him going, but he still ran. He saw the nose of the plane lift up. The front wheel left the ground as it angled upward... but a most precarious thing occurred just after, for just as quickly, it came back down, slowed, and just as it reached the very end of the stretch, it stopped completely. He still had a distance to go to reach it, but despite his weary body failing him, he forced himself to go on.
The plastic staircase lowered, and Corey appeared in the oval doorway. He saw Thomas and jumped down, taking on the speed of the plane itself. “THOMAS!” He hollered in a euphoric state, as he dashed toward him, unable to wait for his arms, to see his smile.
With every eye on the ground watching them, it grew completely still. Silent. Then, they met in a heated embrace. It was there they belonged, and it was there they would stay for all time.
“I love you.” Thomas said breathlessly as he kissed him.
“I know.” Corey replied smiling, tears of joy wetting his eyes. “I know.”
And he did.
~From The Author~
Sadie Stories was my first novel, written during the summer of 1998. I was a wide-eyed, unassuming teenager just out on my own and scared to death in that unfamiliar territory of life responsibility. The world was captured as I saw it, and my imagination was ripe with possibility. The idea of love in all of its manifestations was something I regarded as quite fantasy-like, as it was a topic in which I clearly lacked real experience. However, that lack of experience lent itself to something greater on the page. “Sadie Stories” is oftentimes a very juvenile read, from the perspective of people who themselves romanticize the world they occupy.
Throughout the years I considered revising the story in an effort to mature it. I believe most certainly, as it is nearly ten years later, that my own skills as a writer have evolved and so has my spectrum of experiences with which to write from. As I aged and found myself letting go of those hyper-dramatizations that are inherent to the dreamy nature of youth, I ultimately discovered that Sadie Stories represented more to me than a simple novelization of fictional characters, places and events, but instead a monument to something I regarded as far more precious. Indeed, Sadie Stories comes from an innocent place- A time in my life when I was very much like many of the characters I was writing about.
Sadie Stories was not a novel I criticized and accosted with a red pen. Instead, the characters were my friends, the stories were revealed to me as I wrote them, entirely unplanned. When I sat down at that small word processor and began to write, I thought it was going to be a thriller about a voyeuristic teenager who becomes dangerously obsessed with the boy next door. While threads of that remained, it took on a life of its own and bec
ame something far more introspective- An inadvertent examination of life as I saw it from my bedroom window during those warm summer evenings while everyone else slept.
To edit Sadie Stories and attempt to make it into something it is not, nor was ever intended to be seemed blasphemous. While today, as any writer can attest, we consider many factors in our art of storytelling, some that can incidentally skewer the process of creativity. Books are, without question, commercial vehicles; from the first page there is a carefully executed architecture often years in the making. I do not dispute that, this too, is art of the finest measure. Professional writers painstakingly fine tune their work to ensure each sentence is delivered with maximum impact, not altogether unlike a painter who plans each stroke of his brush with faithful precision. Sadie Stories is not the work of a professional writer with a demographic in mind, or a sales quota to meet, but instead by a willful young insomniac who had been given a story that wanted to be told.
And here it is.
It is a world, perhaps not this world, through the eyes of someone who was dreaming it, untouched, pure. I find it interesting to go back and read it myself on occasion. Like a letter from a long lost friend, it makes me smile and remember…
I am pleased to have the unique opportunity to share the story as it was written and without outside influence. I believe part of the charm of Sadie Stories is its ability to be read unapologetically and with that adolescent abandon we shed all too quickly.
Zachary Zilba
March 5th 2009
Sadie Stories Page 17