It didn't feel right, sitting in front of this dimly lit convenience store as I waited for my ride. It didn't feel real.
The flickering green lights glowed in the night, flashing only half of the gas station logo. Straw wrappers and empty cigarette boxes littered the parking lot. I didn't know this convenience store. In fact, I was unfamiliar with all of my surroundings. I was lucky to find that there was a gas station within walking distance of the airport. I don't particularly enjoy getting picked up at the airport. It's always so crowded and the last thing that I needed was to be surrounded by strangers breathing down my neck.
What I needed was Bonnie.
As I crushed the rest of my cigarette into the ground, I was blinded by headlights pulling into the parking spot directly in front of me, despite the otherwise emptiness of the parking lot. The lights quickly switched off and the driver's door opened. I stood up.
"There she is," Bonnie's soothing voice flowed through my ears like soft wind, and I was instantly embodied by a feeling of relief. Here I am, and there she is. The one person that could save me from my hometown. "Live and in the flesh."
I began walking towards her, and before my mouth could even form any words, I wrapped my arms tightly around her. We stood there for several seconds of silence just holding each other. "Thank you for doing this," I whispered in her ear, breaking the silence.
"Alice," she said sternly. She broke out of the hug and grabbed my shoulders, looking me in the eye. "I'll always have your back. You know I really don't mind paying for a flight ticket." She crouched down, gently resting her hand on top of one of my suitcases and looked up at me. "I'll put all your stuff in the trunk, go ahead and get in the car. There's a coffee tumbler in the cupholder full of beer. I brought that for you in case you wanted it."
"Thanks," I chuckled. As she started to grab my bags and suitcases to load the trunk, I stepped into her old little car that she's had since high school. Despite the years, it aged quite well, the mint green paint hardly chipping off. The succulent and lotus stickers were still on the dashboard, and she still played her indie playlist at a volume that's just slightly too low. I used to find it irritating because you could hear mumbly voices singing, but not loud enough to be able to distinguish any words. In that moment, though, it gave me comfort.
When Bonnie got back into the car, I couldn't help but look down at my lap. I felt so embarrassed. Nervously stumbling on my words, I said, "It's not just the plane ticket. It's everything you're doing for me. I'm asking for such big favors, it's not fair to you."
"Don't stress." She put her seatbelt on and gestured for me to do the same. "(Believe me, I know all about leaving a shitty household). I'm just glad I'm able to help." I nodded, unable to look up from my fidgety fingers. I grazed my hand over the cold metal tumbler and slowly lifted it out of the cupholder. It was full. The lid made a quiet hissing sound as I opened it. I took a swig and placed the cup in my lap between my legs rather than back in the cupholder. Anxiety makes you do weird things like that.
"Enough about me," I chuckled nervously. I wanted to eliminate any possibility of Bonnie asking me any more questions about what happened. Not that night, anyway. I was much too tired. I had just taken a flight that I had never taken alone before. Spending hours sitting next to strangers in the middle of nowhere—in the sky—was mentally exhausting. The feeling of loneliness embodied me throughout the flight, knowing that I was running and crying to my last resort because I had nowhere else to go. But that would be a conversation for another time. "How have you been? We haven't seen each other since—"
"My runaway party in high school," she laughed. "I've been really good. A lot has happened since I left," she looked down for a moment and inhaled deeply. "A lot."
