I wish I’d known him before.
As I walk away, I hear my mom’s voice talking to him. “You know she’s only going for three months, right?”
Goddammit, Mom.
Way to fuck up my exit.
I WAIT UNTIL I’ve changed planes in Charlotte, North Carolina, and I’m buckled into my seat in a much larger plane on the way to Amsterdam before I delve into my backpack for Joey’s gift. I’ll be in Amsterdam for the day until I have to board another overnight flight. I know he was expecting me to open it on the first flight and maybe text him from Charlotte. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I’m glad because I’m feeling homesick already, and the thought that I might open the present and go running home was a clear and present danger.
The flight attendant comes around taking orders for fish or chicken and handing out wine. I gratefully accept, even though when I see the size of the bottle I want to ask her for five more. Then I set the small brown box down in front of me on the tray table and pull the two ends of pink ribbon.
Opening the box, I take out a small folded note. Underneath is a pale grey felt pouch, like the kind a jeweler might use. I open the note first.
This was impossible to find. In the end, I had it made. This is to remind you you’re still in there somewhere. That girl you were? You’re still her. Not even an asshat like me could change that.
Stay true to what you want, Jazzy Bear. Don’t change your plans for anyone. Including me.
But I will always love you.
Maybe, if you come back to me, I’ll let you know what I really said to Bethany Winters that day she tripped you outside school. It was the first day I saw you. You had hair of silk and sunlight and a laugh that moved my soul.
I’ll never forget it.
Jay Bird
I don’t even know what the present is, and I have tears sliding down my face. Luckily, I’m sandwiched between an older guy snoring and half a window. And thank the baby Jesus I waited to open this when I was in a tiny metal cylinder above the Atlantic and not still on American soil in a building with an exit and only one state away from him.
Shit.
Turns out I am “that girl.” You know? The one who’ll change her plans for a guy.
Except, I’m not.
Not really.
I want to run to the pilot and tell him to turn the plane around, but even if that was a viable option, I know I wouldn’t do it. I actually have a choice to do it or not. I feel a sense of peace knowing that.
I’m heading to the last place I ever heard from my father. I want to see it for myself. I want to experience something new, something so different than the world I grew up in. And I plan to document my entire experience in word and picture from beginning to end. And then? Then I’ll be done. I love photography. But it doesn’t consume me like it obviously consumed my father. There’s a relief in knowing that too.
I open my tiny bottle of wine, pour some in the plastic cup and take a sip.
Then I open the pouch and slide the contents into my palm.
A thin silver chain slithers out, with a charm attached.
It’s a boot. A pink, sparkly, enamel, cowgirl boot, set in silver.
I huff out a breath of surprise as I stare at it.
I can’t believe he remembered the pink sparkle cowgirl boots box I kept on the boat. The box that had held physical remnants of my relationship with my father. And of course, the memory of the little girl who’d worn pink sparkly cowgirl boots on her feet until they’d fallen apart.
Again, I congratulate myself on my decision to wait on opening the damn gift. With shaking hands, I fumble the clasp and get it around my neck. It takes about seventeen tries and an elbow into the chin of the snoring man next to me, who weirdly doesn’t even flinch. I finally get it on. The length of the chain puts the boot next to my heart. Okay fine, it’s nestled right in my cleavage. Same thing.
I fish out my phone and take a cleavage selfie, making sure to use my arms to pad my boobs a bit closer together and perkier looking. I also make sure to see a bit of my bra and of course to keep my blubbering tear-stained face out of it. It’ll be the one and only thing I send to Joseph for three months.
“You need me to take the boob shot?” the guy next to me offers.
“Jesus,” I squeak, nearly jumping out of my skin. “You were sleeping.”
“And now, I’m awake. It’s hard to sleep with all this crying and ‘angst-ing’ going on next to me. And also, the elbow. I didn’t appreciate the elbow.”
“You always ask girls half your age for boob shots?”
“No. I’m gay, sweetheart.”
“Oh. And I’m sorry about the elbowing. And the ‘angst-ing’ or whatever.”
“No sweat. These sleeping pills are for shit anyway. My boyfriend stole the good stuff out of my travel bag for his last trip.”
I raise my plastic cup. “We could just drink ourselves to sleep. I’m Jessica, by the way,” I add, reinventing myself on a whim.
“I’m Allen.” He points to my cup. “It’s a plan. So where are you headed?”