Paper Airplanes

Dot on the Horizon

I threw my school bag in my bed and fell into my desk chair, my momentum causing it to spin and twirl. On the second turn, before I faced the desk, I planted my feet on the ground, causing my chair to come to an abrupt stop. I plucked a pencil out of my ceramic cup and grabbed paper from a nearby shelf. My pencil hovered above the first line, as my thoughts wandered into my memories of the day.

Her palm went to my face, making contact with my nose. Not as a punch, or anything of the like, but more as a push. No! You can't see! Go away. I remember staring at her in shock, wondering why Cary got to see it when she was more my friend than her own.

Now her hand strikes out at my leg, trying to take a handful of whatever it could hold and squeeze as hard as she liked; even though there was someone else sitting in the car seat between us. All I had done to earn this was say something the littlest bit teasing.

Finally, her words echo rebounding in the cavity in my head. I get to do things with my friends because I actually have friends. And you don't. You have no friends, at least ones that like to hang out and do things with you.

My chest shuddered with heavy feelings. My eyes started to well. And my pencil flew across the paper writing down my innermost feelings. Why couldn't she understand that I actually had some?

I don't think you understand all that I do for you. Each day you break me down, wearing and tearing me, and each night I struggle to build myself back up. And yet, every day I give you another chance. I give you the chance to redeem yourself without fail, and everyday you fail me. I've given you numerous chances and now, I give up. I once believed you could be a good person, but I now no longer care. Go do as you wish, it doesn't matter to me.

I signed it off with my initials JHL and slowly started to fold the paper. I took such care into each fold, into each crease. I wanted this to be official. It had to be. If I no longer cared then I could no longer be hurt. I had shed too many tears already, enough for a life time, so why should I create enough for another.

Picking up my now finished paper airplane, I studied it and deemed it worthy. Setting it down back on the desk, I ran around and checked the location of my family. My sister was in the bathroom, as always. My mom in the kitchen doing who knows what, and my dad in the living room watching television. My practice was a secret, and I had preferred it stayed that way.

I rushed back up the stairs and into my own sparse room. I threw the window open and felt a breeze pass by, causing the curtains to shudder. It was perfect weather. I lifted the airplane and when I was just about to throw it, when heavy footsteps emitted from the hallway behind me.

"Hey! I know what you did! Don't think I wouldn't notice!" I quickly stashed the plane behind the soft blue curtain, hopeful that she wouldn't be suspicious. She stood tall at the door way, arms crossed, nostrils flared and a large frown fell on her face, making her look not quite angry, but more unappealing. "I know you messed with my makeup! Don't you ever touch it again!" With a snarl and glare, she slammed my door and huffed away. I hadn't even touched her makeup, but that didn't matter now.

I sighed softly and waited to hear her footsteps retreat back to the bathroom, which was really quite easy. I rushed to behind the curtain and gingerly picked up the fragile plane. Looking out onto the blue horizon I saw a clear sky and the first signs of a sunset. Faint hues of red, orange, and purple radiated around the sun. A perfect scenery to match the perfect weather.

I reeled back my arm slightly and propelled it forward, letting go of the plane at just the right moment. Heading out the window, it dipped and raised slightly, showing a possibility of a crash, but it then caught a current and rode it down towards the horizon into the sun. I imagined it going all the way to outer space and flying straight into the sun where it would instantly flare up and burn. The mere thought brought me satisfaction. But even just watching the ever shrinking plane made me feel better. It always had. I'd always imagine my feelings as little people riding the letters and words on the paper to who knows where. It's as if I can just send them away. Call it my own kind of therapy I guess. But watching that little dot slowly disappear reminded me of how that had not been my first airplane, nor would it ever be my last.