Under A Paper Moon |N.H|

1

JULY

I knew this flight was going to be absolute shit when I got stuck with the middle seat.

I'm usually not picky with where I sit on a plane. You really can't win in any seat.

You get the window seat and you might get a pretty view if you aren't terrified of heights, but you're squished between the wall and the person next to you. While you have something to lean against and try to get some sleep, it can be difficult when you fly in the middle of the day and the sun is shining through your window. Sure, you can close yours, but the six-year-old boy in front of you has never flown on a plane before, and he can't take his eyes off the view below him, which forces you to wear sunglasses while you sleep so you aren't blinded by the rays shining through his window.

You get the aisle seat and you have a little bit more room, but that room is quickly forgotten when you get smacked with bags belonging to the other passengers boarding the plane. It's almost impossible to sleep in these seats too, because the only way you would be able to sleep is by resting your head on the person next to you, and that only seems acceptable if the person next to you is a family member or a really close friend.

If you get the middle seat, you lose.

There is absolutely nothing great about being in the middle seat, especially when you are flying alone.

You're stuck between two complete strangers, and the only right thing to do is to stare at the seat in front of you, and hope the hours go by a whole lot faster.

They never do, but you try anyway.

I flew five hours with one stranger's head resting on my shoulder while he snored like a goddamn motorboat, and the other with the window wide open, letting the sun beat on the right side of my body.

Sure, I could have woken the guy up, and I could have politely asked the other person to close the window so I didn't walk off this plane like a poorly toasted bagel, but when you have the middle seat, you're accepting defeat the second your ass touches the cushion, so I didn't even bother.

I jumped up from my seat like it was lava the second we touched down in New York and the pilot's voice came over the speakers, letting us know that we have arrived and we can beginning unloading our things and heading to baggage claim, but I'm a pro at this by now, considering all the flying I have done in my life, especially to and from this location.

I have been flying to New York since I was ten, so for the last twelve years now.

When I was ten, my parents separated. I would say divorced, but even that seems like it would be too positive of a word to describe how they split up.

I don't remember much of it considering how young I was, or maybe my brain was trying to protect me from it all, hoping to shield me from any trauma -- but I picked that up later-- so I just blanked out on that year of my life, but all I know is one day my parents were arguing, and the next, my dad had a suitcase in his hands and a one-way plane ticket to New York to go live with his brother.

He fought so hard for my sister and I to come with him, but my mother won the custody battle, giving me only a few days a year to see my father, and when it came to those days, she wouldn't even get on the plane with me.

At ten years old, she would send me off across the country from Arizona to New York without thinking twice about my safety or how scared I might have been to do that alone. The worst part is, I was told to put on a brave face for my sister who was two years younger than me, so I never even had a chance to be sad in the airport, or scared getting on the plane. If I felt that fear for a second, I immediately felt guilty for it. I wish I could go back and tell myself that it's okay to be scared. You were only ten, and you're allowed to have fears.