I glance from my ticket with my assigned seat number to the labels under the overhead bins until I finally find my spot by the window at the rear of the plane. As I squeeze past the other passengers, apologizing because my hands are full, I get a few—how shall I put it?—friendly but wary looks.
It’s like they’re not sure whether to be cautious in case I’m a problem wrapped up in a happy daisy sundress with a leopard print denim jacket on top, or a nervous tween traveling by herself for the first time.
To be clear, it’s neither. Well, I won’t lie. I am a little nervous.
I checked my luggage and carry my yellow metal water bottle covered in stickers, my handbag with the Cookie Dough Diary,my phone with its fuzzy case, and the cowgirl hat that no one would buy and I couldn’t part with. All of that is mine, but I borrowed the daisy sundress and leopard print denim jacket.
Yes, I look like a middle schooler who just left the mall with her loot. No, I didn’t rob a twelve-year-old. However, with my finances being relatively tight, I “shopped” in Heidi’s basement storage boxes to replace some of my belongings. Okay, pretty much my entire wardrobe.
Once upon a time, I had a credit card that I didn’t think twice about swiping at will. I bought whatever clothing, coffee, and tchotchkes I wanted. Spiteful, Todd cleaned me out and Heidi helped me sell online everything that remained, leaving me with her castoffs, some of which she’s had since middle school.
Which means I’m the same size Heidi was when she was still a preteen. Five-two and a shave over a hundred pounds.
Nothing wrong with that, but I don’t exactly feel like I’m winning at adulthood. Mostly, because until recently, I didn’t realize I could make my life my own. It had been subject to the whims of my father and then my fiancé.
Watch out, world, here I come.
All I need are a pair of headphones with a unicorn horn or cat ears and I’d be golden.
An older woman with tufty white hair sits in the aisle seat and stares at her cellphone’s blank screen. I squeeze past her before carefully lowering into my spot. My chest is still sore if I move abruptly or twist, but so is my heart. I’m not sure it’ll ever heal. It wasn’t broken by a lousy boyfriend or lost love, more like a loser, but from time to time it hurts nonetheless because, as independent as I am, what I really long for is family.
Of course, Heidi embraces me with open arms, but I mean my own family—a mom and dad, maybe siblings I can call and whose kids I can spoil.
I gaze through the airplane window at the workers bustling around, loading luggage, and beyond to the trees with new, bright leaves. It’s been a long spring. Heidi argued against my leaving so soon, especially because summer is the best time of year in northern Michigan. However, as soon as I received clearance to fly, I booked my ticket to Concordia, where I have a job waiting at the Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette.
The promise of the bright horizon waiting for me, along with mountain views, seaside vistas, and a new beginning, helped me through the long winter.
As the rest of the passengers board the plane, I feel like a marathon runner who’s almost reached the proverbial finish line, only I’m not wearing a terry cloth headband or neon sneakers. My wavy brown hair is just a tad too short to tie in a ponytail and I sold my gently used two-hundred-fifty-dollar sneakers on one of the online consignment shops that Heidi found.
I anticipate a win because I’m leaving behind the ever-present twist of anxiety that has kept me on edge for months as soon as the plane reaches cruising altitude. I never meant to do anything shady, but ultimately, it was a life-or-death situation and I’m eager to put as much distance between myself and the past as possible.
I buckle up, wrap my mother’s pashmina scarf that I never leave home without around my neck and shoulders, and say a quick prayer for a safe journey.
A shadow darkens the light streaming in from the windows across the aisle. My stomach twists. I risk glancing up, bracing for the worst—The Spider, aka Todd, demanding me back, which he’s done several times since, and I quote, “You humiliated me on my wedding day in front of my friends and family.”
Reality check, buddy. I think the sidepiece had something to do with that. All the same, he won’t let it, er, me, go.
Instead, a man with a sizeable paunch, weasel-like eyes, and greasy hair points at me or the vacant seat, I can’t be sure. “I was hoping for the window.”
His teeth are kind of pointy.
A flight attendant stands by his side as if anticipating she might have to wrangle him into his seat like an unruly toddler. “Sorry, sir. Your ticket is for this seat. Please make yourself comfortable. We’re getting ready to taxi to the runway.”
With a shrug, I proffer an apologetic smile. “I guess it’s too late to switch.”
Like a grubby creature that dragged itself out of a gutter after feasting all night on discarded pizza crusts and chicken bones, the man-animal grunts and pushes his way past the older woman who angles her phone from side to side like a hologram sticker.
“Mind yourself, young man,” she says when he drops into the seat, bumping into her.
Manimal doesn’t bother to apologize and crowds me with a grubby plastic grocery bag tied tightly at the top and a dirty backpack that he drops on my foot as he shoves it under the seat. I’d rather it were Blade from the bus stop. At least he didn’t smell like cat pee.
The creature next to me kicks off his faux leather loafers and then elbows me as he reclines in his seat. “Betcha wish you traded with me now, huh?”
My friendly smile dips when a dirty, cheesy odor filters from below.
“I wish I could afford a first-class ticket,” I mutter.
“Don’t we all?” he replies.
