When I was twenty-two…
I pulled my suitcase out to my father’s truck. The brown bag contained only personal items since I planned to buy most things once I arrived in Paris. The moment seemed surreal. After months of endless planning, preparation, and finally graduation, I was leaving. I went back and sat on the porch steps to wait. The sun beat over my head and sweat ran down my back, creating wet spots against the fabric of my t-shirt. Things I would not miss; damn fire ants and the sticky heat of a Texas summer.
“We gotta go, Pumpkin.”
“I know. Just a few more minutes.” I looked at my phone, seeing the screen absent of any texts or missed calls. I waited, feeling a little sick.
My father stood in front of me and put a hand on my shoulder. “We can’t wait any longer.”
“But…he promised.”
“I’m sure he just got tied up. We need to leave or you will miss your flight.”
I climbed in the truck, feeling panicked. We pulled out of the driveway with my face pressed against the glass, half expecting him to come flying across the yard from somewhere out on the meadow. Jess promised to be here this morning. He promised!
All the way into the city, my father chatted with his words of thoughts and wisdom. The creases around his bright eyes seemed deep today. He was sad, but tried every possible way to stay upbeat about the trip. He used that word over and over again, except this wasn’t just a trip. I let my father stay in his deep-rooted denial as I stared at my phone, hoping Jess would call, but the little box remained silent the entire drive to the Dallas-Fort Worth airport.
Checking in at the ticket counter, I glanced down once more at the phone clasp in my hand. I assumed Frank had Jess knee-deep in something far out in the depths of Sprayberry; his morning consumed with responsibilities much more important than me leaving. I did my best to understand and felt the guilt of the moment. I had no right to ask anything of him.
Over the last few months, the regret of college stupidity stabbed away, over and over again. Jess never kissed or touched me, but I felt it anyway; the electric pull even when he was all the way across a room. We were always close, but it had transcended into a different type of unspoken cement binding us together, which made this lack of a goodbye cut so deep. I needed to see him just one more time. I needed to hear his voice. I needed to feel his arms wrapped tight around my shoulders. Instead, I just felt hollow, like a limb had been severed from my body with a dull knife and I was leaving it behind at Sprayberry.
The anxiety bubbled around inside my stomach. I pulled out my phone and placed the silent box in the security bucket. Turning around, I gave one last wave toward my father. He stood on the edge of the gated area. His hair was mostly gray these days. He wiped away a tear in the corner of his eye. I felt sad for the middle-aged man standing alone, watching his only child leave. He knew deep down, I wasn’t coming back for a very long time. I wished Caroline was here to soften the blow, but she was forced to stay behind with an emergency at Jeeter’s.
My father smiled one last time before turning away. Fighting the urge to run back and sling my arms around his neck, I stepped forward through the body scanner. The grinding noise generated a perfect image that violated my body straight to my scared soul.
I wanted Paris. I needed Paris. I silently chanted the words as a reminder.
The wait for the flight seemed endless. Sticking in my headphones, I slipped away into the sounds of Kings of Leon. I eventually boarded the Boeing 767 with the rest of the world travelers; all destined to new places and new adventures in cities of the unknown. Taking the window seat, I glanced at the large man squashed in the one next to me. A strange odor wafted up from around his body. Cringing, I took a deep breath through my mouth, trying not to think of the many hours to come crammed just two inches from this weird bologna-smelling stranger.
Checking my phone one last time, I flipped the off switch and settled against the seat. I yearned to keep it activated, but didn’t want to chance crashing the plane with my desperate need to hang on to the hope of hearing his voice.
My toes fidgeted inside my gray, canvas shoes. I hated flying. The sound of the engines vibrated my seat as we left the tarmac. My white knuckles dug into the thighs of my jeans, making the Poison Oak colored nail polish glow against my skin. Deep breath in. Bologna. Deep breath out. Grabbing the sketch pad from my travel bag, I flipped through pencil outlines to the first blank page. Nothing calmed my nerves more than putting gray lines on the paper. My heart jolted in my chest as I saw the familiar hand writing on the page.
Alex,
Did you really think you could leave without me having the last word? Well here it is. I know. You hate me right now. I can hear you muttering out loud the ways to kill me. You know that’s just going to scare the shit out of the poor idiot trapped next to you. Better keep it together. Air marshals handcuff people for that kind of crap you know.
But seriously Al, I’ve dreaded this day for months. So much that I just couldn’t make myself come to the airport. I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t watch you leave. It hurts too much. Maybe if I don’t see you go, I can still pretend you might just walk through the door tomorrow. Crazy I know.
So I guess this is it. I’ll miss you. I’ll miss us. I already do. You mean more to me than anyone else. I want to say those other words to you, but I know it won’t make this any easier. Just know that you’ll always be my girl. I promise.
I know you’re scared right now. But you’re gonna be just fine. And don’t cry. This paper ain’t worth any of those damn tears of yours. Be happy. Remember, this is your time, Alex. Enjoy every minute of it. I hope you find what you’re looking for out there.
Send me an email or something in a few weeks after you get your shit unpacked. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I wish I could have done more today, but this is all you get. Cheap ass way out. I know. – Jess
A tear rolled down my left cheek. Touching his familiar handwriting, I traced the sentences with my finger as I read them once again. In my mind, I heard his pancake-syrup voice, slurring the words together. My chest hurt. The pain came as if a gun fired tiny bullets into my skin with each word. The tears fell in a steady stream from both eyes as I reached the end with his scribbly name.
Damn you, Jess. I clutched the book to my chest, like I could hug him through the pages. I knew a letter fared better than an ugly scene at the airport, followed by a string of constant, sad phone calls. We both knew this was the better end.
I wiped snot on my sleeve, not caring if bologna man saw it. My teeth found their old familiar groove in my bottom lip; an ugly cry needed to wait until later. Tucking the sketch pad back into my bag, I pulled out my headphones. I stared out the little window at the squares of fields and ranches thousands of feet below me. I fell asleep without even a glimpse of the deep blue ocean.
The congestion of the Paris airport surpassed the ever present dysfunction of Dallas-Fort Worth. I made it through customs. The nerves of the unfamiliar circled through the blood in my body. I found my bag in the maze of people babbling in a hundred separate languages. Reaching the lobby doors, I saw a tiny little sign with my name. Alexandra Tanner. The tall, elegant woman poised with a silhouette of a model. She seemed younger than I expected.
“Margarette?”