Leaving on a Jet Plane
This is the memoir I wrote for my class. After about 156 edits, I am proud of how it turned out. Like it? Tell me! Hate it? Tell me!
I can't believe that was a year ago almost...as you can see, the memory is quite alive for me, still. Nick, I hope this doesn't embarrass you--if anything, I think it just proves how real you truly are to me, even in a semi-virtual world, and I'm not ashamed of that.
Combined, this is the best and the worst moment of my life, I contemplated, choking back another sob. This was most certainly an unforgettable goodbye for me and Nick, my longtime English boyfriend. After crying about this terrible day for countless others preceding it, the reality of what now dawned on me was harsh, something even he felt through the times we cried together over it. I was ecstatic to be with him after spending three incredible months together, yet I was devastated to be ending that chapter. We stood with our hands united and secured against an inevitable separation within London’s gritty Heathrow Airport, an environment infamous for greetings and farewells.
For the time being, our palms were hot and sweaty from being clasped tightly for the past hour or more. We were nearing the Point of No Return-a few steps further and we would lose all audiovisual contact. Nick was even quieter than usual, and I watched the muscles in his neck tighten more frequently with every step we took along the passenger queue. I began to cry as I looked at him, admiring the bravery with which he carried himself, and he smiled sweetly as his rough finger gingerly wiped the trickling tear that started down my cheek.
The truth is, we were terrified. Our steady handclasp had transformed into fidgets, and I gripped his cottony shirt sleeve like it was my childhood security blanket. He put his arm around my waist and pulled me dangerously closer until our boney hips were touching. His body felt so solid and strong next to mine, but his breathing was hollow and unsteady. Mine was fearful and reluctant, just like the steps we inched forward toward that hazy, unwanted finish line.
A generous delay in the security line provided some limited time for us to turn and face each other for a quiet moment to ourselves. I pressed myself nearer to him so that we could feel each other’s warmth over as much of us as possible; we knew it would all be gone soon enough. We were so firmly conjoined that his body heat transferred to my core being in a sudden, familiar romantic rush of feeling. The faint, lingering taste of morning tea and of the classic English breakfast we recently shared together reminded me of that fresh memory as I smooched him again and again. Neither of us could offer the lingering kisses we desired because incoming waves of emotion forced us to cough in order to block torrents of tears.
I mindlessly peered through misty eyes past Nick as I rested my chin on his shoulder and unrelentingly squeezed him with my arms. An adventurous little boy behind him was reaching up to hold his mother’s hand. His leather aviating jacket prophesied the omen of the moment, as we were parting so that Nick could leave to become a commercial pilot. With light blonde hair and excited blue eyes, the child even looked like a miniature him, I decided. Nick brought me back to our moment together when he stroked my hair and touched the back of my neck, sending goose bumps all over my body.
And then the moment came when he utters the phrase I shrink from every time an airplane schedule claims our time together. He quietly muffled through a stifled throat, “Linny, you’re going to miss your flight.”
“I don’t care! You know I don’t want the stupid flight.” My voice was hoarse and its tone betrayed the confidence I pretended to convey. Salty tears trickled into my mouth and sank past my swollen tonsils, soothing the tightness found there. Plenty of wet spots from the ones that didn’t make it to my mouth now stained his red hoodie along his sturdy shoulders, the place I rested my head so many days before this one. My heartbeat was unsteady.
He politely ignored me and tenderly moved his hands to clench my waist as he searched my cheerless eyes: “This isn’t forever,” he paused, motioning to me to take another Kleenex, “We’re going to meet again, you know.”
He said goodbye without saying it. My eyes narrowed in on his dark red lips as he spoke because otherwise I would have seen his eyes that were too tender, too agonized. I threw my arms around his neck and wept shamelessly as I professed innumerable times how much I loved him. His body trembled as he too was racked with tears. He gasped for air from a suffocated windpipe, and all that he could say was, “I know, me too.”
His blue eyes were hazy and glazed with a layer of water unlike I had ever seen them. Partially, I was thankful that he could not fully see me, for I was a pitiful blob with puffy eyes and drooping shoulders. I clung to stubborn denial while that awful separation we dreaded approached like a speeding freight train, but that moment arrived, with or without our consent.
With one last adoring and fervent hug, we turned away from each other slowly, reluctantly. Instantly the vacant physical space left us feeling exposed and naked. My hands were cold without his, and my body felt empty, as if it had been drained of the blood that was rushing through it only moments before. I shivered as the flood of a heart recovering from a frozen pulse came over me. My chest felt resounding pain, the first time I ever truly felt an aching heart. The churning knot within my stomach prohibited movement entirely, even though I wanted to race after him with everything I had. I was miserable and my body’s reactions were proof.
Yet I believe that was the best moment of my life because pure love defined us-even in our worst, most painful moment.
I know some of you have been there, too.