Strangely enough, it isn’t the fear of crashing into the ocean or the ground that bothers me most. It’s the mere idea of being thousands of feet in the air that terrifies me. I suddenly wish I had thought to pack my iPod or something to distract me. I had been too busy packing essentials like clothing to think about entertainment.
I look down at the notebook in my lap, the same one I had used to scribble my notes as I cracked the coded text message. It is a well-worn leather journal Jason had given me for my birthday a year ago. I open it up and re-read the inscription inside the cover: “For your adventures – Jason”. At the time I hadn’t really appreciated the gesture. I didn’t have any adventures, unless you counted occasionally sneaking out of the house to go watch a movie at his place.
But now that is finally changing.
Tucked inside the back cover of the notebook are a handful of pictures I have stored there. There are pictures of me and Alexa, and quite a few of Jason, but it isn’t his picture that gives me pause. It’s the last photo in the small stack, the one I had almost forgotten about. Jason isn’t the only child who stole from their father, I realize. I can remember being nine years old and sneaking this particular picture from a family album before my dad could put it in storage with the rest of her stuff.
It isn’t a family photo, though I would have liked one. It is just the two of them, my mom and dad. I can’t tell where they are in the photo, some picturesque mountainside, but the beauty of the scenery is dimmed by the look of love in their eyes. This picture has always confused and comforted me at the same time, just as it does now. How could she have left, when she clearly loved him so much?
I was only nine when she left, so I can still picture them together in my mind. They had never been unhappy, at least not where I could see. But then the day had come, dark and cold, when my dad had simply walked into my room and told me my mom was gone. I asked him where, but he just shook his head sadly and walked away.
When I was little it had been easier. Easier to pretend she had just wanted a different life than we could have given her. I used to pretend she was off in Paris studying paintings, or in Italy bicycling across the countryside. It was easier to think she just wasn’t cut out to be my mom, easier to pretend I didn’t want her to be. But as I grew, so did my resentment toward her. My feelings of abandonment never faded. Like my dad, I simply tried to put her away, somewhere where she couldn’t hurt me. It wasn’t much better, but it was something.
Now is not a good time for reminiscing. I grip the armrests tightly as the engines start to roar and the plane begins its ascent. I close my eyes and try to think of something, anything besides the ground that is quickly disappearing below. The old lady in the seat beside me doesn’t seem to mind. Instead she reaches over, plucks the pictures from my hands and starts examining them.
“Is this your boyfriend?” She holds up the picture of Jason.
I nod, but only because I’m too afraid to open my mouth and speak. I’m not sure what will come out right now, either my breakfast or a curse.
“My, my, he sure is handsome.” She flips to the next one of Alexa. “Oh, and she’s very pretty, isn’t she?”
Again I nod, gritting my teeth as my ears pop and the plane begins to level off.
She seems to notice my odd behavior, but doesn’t seem concerned. Instead she glances out the window and casually comments, “My, we’re high, aren’t we?”
Unconsciously my eyes follow her gaze to the window where I can barely make out the tops of the clouds. Not a good idea. I close my eyes again.
“Oh goodness, are these your parents? Why you look just like your mother!”
Now I definitely feel like I’m going to throw up.
As it happened, my overly-friendly seatmate didn’t turn out to be such a bad
I look down at the notebook in my lap, the same one I had used to scribble my notes as I cracked the coded text message. It is a well-worn leather journal Jason had given me for my birthday a year ago. I open it up and re-read the inscription inside the cover: “For your adventures – Jason”. At the time I hadn’t really appreciated the gesture. I didn’t have any adventures, unless you counted occasionally sneaking out of the house to go watch a movie at his place.
But now that is finally changing.
Tucked inside the back cover of the notebook are a handful of pictures I have stored there. There are pictures of me and Alexa, and quite a few of Jason, but it isn’t his picture that gives me pause. It’s the last photo in the small stack, the one I had almost forgotten about. Jason isn’t the only child who stole from their father, I realize. I can remember being nine years old and sneaking this particular picture from a family album before my dad could put it in storage with the rest of her stuff.
It isn’t a family photo, though I would have liked one. It is just the two of them, my mom and dad. I can’t tell where they are in the photo, some picturesque mountainside, but the beauty of the scenery is dimmed by the look of love in their eyes. This picture has always confused and comforted me at the same time, just as it does now. How could she have left, when she clearly loved him so much?
I was only nine when she left, so I can still picture them together in my mind. They had never been unhappy, at least not where I could see. But then the day had come, dark and cold, when my dad had simply walked into my room and told me my mom was gone. I asked him where, but he just shook his head sadly and walked away.
When I was little it had been easier. Easier to pretend she had just wanted a different life than we could have given her. I used to pretend she was off in Paris studying paintings, or in Italy bicycling across the countryside. It was easier to think she just wasn’t cut out to be my mom, easier to pretend I didn’t want her to be. But as I grew, so did my resentment toward her. My feelings of abandonment never faded. Like my dad, I simply tried to put her away, somewhere where she couldn’t hurt me. It wasn’t much better, but it was something.
Now is not a good time for reminiscing. I grip the armrests tightly as the engines start to roar and the plane begins its ascent. I close my eyes and try to think of something, anything besides the ground that is quickly disappearing below. The old lady in the seat beside me doesn’t seem to mind. Instead she reaches over, plucks the pictures from my hands and starts examining them.
“Is this your boyfriend?” She holds up the picture of Jason.
I nod, but only because I’m too afraid to open my mouth and speak. I’m not sure what will come out right now, either my breakfast or a curse.
“My, my, he sure is handsome.” She flips to the next one of Alexa. “Oh, and she’s very pretty, isn’t she?”
Again I nod, gritting my teeth as my ears pop and the plane begins to level off.
She seems to notice my odd behavior, but doesn’t seem concerned. Instead she glances out the window and casually comments, “My, we’re high, aren’t we?”
Unconsciously my eyes follow her gaze to the window where I can barely make out the tops of the clouds. Not a good idea. I close my eyes again.
“Oh goodness, are these your parents? Why you look just like your mother!”
Now I definitely feel like I’m going to throw up.
As it happened, my overly-friendly seatmate didn’t turn out to be such a bad
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