Cheeky

№ I. Takeoff

I never liked planes when I was little. They always reeked of plastic and disinfectant,  and my head would ache from the stale air, not to mention the screaming babies. I was always sat next to the strangest people, as if I were some Creep Magnet. When I was ten, this hobbit of an old lady was sat next to me; she stank of bug spray and would kick the bucket at any moment.

Well, we were experiencing some slight turbulence, more like an earthquake. Already pale as a ghost, I was terrified, what with her rocking back and forth and her hands all tangled up in black rosary beads. I swear she must have looked like Mother Teresa, telling people in back of her that the Lord would save us.

I guess she didn't realize that we were only a few miles from the airport, and the plane had autopilot, but her theatrics were just as amazing. She turned to me, grasping my small hands in hers. I had never felt rosary beads before and I remember thinking they were so pretty. She looked into my eyes, firmly planting me beside her.

"It's going to be alright child, don't worry. Where are your parents?"

I frowned, thinking over her last words as she clutched onto me.

"They're divorced," I replied bluntly. Being raised in Los Angles, it was a normal part of everyday conversation. I had grown up with the word stamped on my forehead, and every woman that walked by saw it as a "For Sale" sign whenever my affluent father was around.

Mother Teresa's mouth popped open and she crossed her chest and forehead with her index and middle finger. I frowned, looking down at my fingers as well. Why did she do that? But before I could ask, she crushed me to her chest.

"You poor child. Christ hears us."

"But my mom is waiting at the airport" I coughed as her noxious perfume of dust and death began to suffocate me.

Fast forward eight years, and now I'm here, standing at the gate in LAX practically begging to get on the plane. Mom was holding me just like that little grandma; I was becoming lightheaded from the pressure of my nose being crushed against her new boob job. I finally gave her a little nudge and sucked in a deep breath, lifting my bag over my shoulder as she stepped away. My mom was special, in the best way I hoped.

She was always very vain, getting the occasional treatments to "freshen up her natural glow". If it was so natural, I wondered why she needed them. But I had long learned not to ask, and she went on her merry way hitting up every gym and doctor's office in LA.

"Honey, are you sure you want to do this? We can just pretend that you went and never tell Richard."

"If by Richard you mean Dad, and by pretend you mean not go to college - then no. I'm going - because I want too."

She pouted as I took out a bag of Skittles from my shorts' pocket and popped a few in my mouth.

"Well, if you continue that way of eating then you'll fit right in with the chubbies wherever you're going."

"Mom!"

"Chubbies? I don't see any here!"

Mom squealed as Brett suddenly ran up behind her and gave a light spank against her rear. I groaned as she turned and they began to eat each other's faces. I had suddenly lost my appetite for candy and hastily stuffed them away into my back pocket. After a moment of awkward growls and my discomfort level reaching maximum capacity, I cleared my throat loudly.

"Well would you look at that, they just announced the final boarding call. Don't want to miss my flight. Bye mom," I turned and hoped that if I ran fast enough they wouldn't hear me.

Brett tore his face from my mother's and called out after me, "Hey, squirt, I don't get a goodbye?"

I ground my teeth together as I miserably turned back around; I hated it whenever he called me that. His biceps were bigger than his brain and he had been with my mother now for a whopping nine months. I guess things were starting to get serious between them.