#127
It’s evening. We’re on the tarmac. The plane is idle, waiting for us to board. The sun dips in the west. It’s still hot out, but that’s what you get during a New Jersey summer.
Inside the small terminal, we say hello to the pilots. The dog barks at them, but they pull treats out of their pockets to calm him down.
Me: It’s his first flight. Or, first private flight anyway.
She’s here with me in her travel attire, which took an enormous amount of time to choose. She’s late thirties, I’m early forties, the dog is late threes. She is a petite brunette, never had children, educated, and well-versed in high-quality items, culture, music, and food, but never stuffy about it.
I’m lanky and tall with a full head of hair that has yet to start turning white, grey, silver. I’m a good age, and we bonded over our education, verse-ness in high-quality items, culture, music, food, and our un-stuffiness about it, although our friends might have different opinions.
I feel like things might change.
Her: God I hate these bags. I wish I had time to get new ones before we left.
Me: What’s wrong with them?
Her: They haven’t aged well.
She talks about her bags as if they are two old women who chain-smoked their entire life and never used sunscreen.
Me: I’m just glad we were able to get this all put together so quickly. I mean, I know there are still some loose ends, but.
Her: one of us will have to come back.
Me: I know.
The pilots finish a cup of coffee each and motion to us that they are ready if we are. The flight attendant is already onboard—checklists to be attended to. We also made catering requests for dinner. I, naturally, chose the wine.
She boards, but I take a moment to walk the dog to the grass at the edge of the runway. One last potty break for him. He doesn’t need any convincing. I look out over the light blue edges of the sky flecked with a few high clouds and an orange that reminds me of a dreamcicle. There is a light wind, very light. It feels melancholic and makes me think I should have asked for watermelon on the plane. It doesn’t matter.
I let the dog off his leash for a second and we run back and forth to release some of his tension and energy before we board. Once in the cabin, he jumps into the seats situated like a sofa as if he was at home. She pulls out his favorite blanket and puts it beside him. The flight attendant tells us he will have to be held or buckled in for take-off, so I sit next to him and we’re comfy, I almost fall asleep.
As the engines come to life and we scream down the runway, as the air lifts us off the ground, as the machines push us away from land, I feel, for the first time in years, maybe in my life, like I can breathe, that things will be alright, that I’m fine and I don’t need to worry. It’s not going away. It’s not going to end. This is it, this is everything, right here, right now.
….