I'm Not Real

I

I'll be waiting
I am waiting
A little while
Down the hall
To your left
There I am
There you are
But you seem so far

-July 10

-

This is what I have to deal with right now.
A screeching sister,
A painful migraine,
And a plane I have to catch in 45 minutes.
It's quite painful.

"Chip," my sister urges. "Let's go, I can literally ship the rest of your things tomorrow. No big deal."

"Leanna-"

"College starts in like, a month. I swear you'll be fine. Now hurry up or you'll have to catch another plane tomorrow."

"Listen," I say, bustling out of my wool slippers. Shoot, gotta pack those too. "I just need to get my camera.. got it. And I can't find my notebook. Where is ittt?" I'm tripping over all the cluttered books that I'd thrown out of my bookshelf from packing about half of it into my third, largest suitcase. Maybe I've gone a tad overboard but at this point, it didn't really matter.

"I packed it in your bag yesterday-" my sister started, glaring at me.

"LEANNA-"

"Okay, please, let us venture into the land of.. whatever.. planes. C'mon."

My complaints were muffled as she dragged my remaining, barely zipped suitcase, out of the garage door.

Don't get me wrong. From the past context I may seem like I'm not ready to leave, but I've been ready since I started high school. I'm moving from my small town to- that's right- the generic kingdom, or so they call it, Los Angeles. Remember though- they have a population of almost 2 million people, so don't shape my story as a "stereotypical romance". I'll get to that later.

My sister slams the trunk as I squeeze into my boots. They're already tied, so it'll be a hassle to waste the precious time my sister Leanna is going to deal with. I practically run to the side of her Mini Cooper, and slide in to the front seat. She takes a whiff of a cigarette before taking her own seat, then throws it out into our parents' lawn.

"Trash." I smirk, unintentionally smashing my hand with the seat belt as I pay more attention to her reaction. I yelp, but it's just worse that way.

"Funny you say that." She veers off, jerking backwards, and chucks the garage door closed. "I'll miss you, son."

"Pleeaseee don't call me that."

"Okay."

It's a quiet drive. Usually on days like this, we'll be arguing about the latest chapter that Fiona Mensies has written on her online book, but it's quieter this time. No "maybe there's just no conspiracy, it's a coincidence" or "shut up Chip, you're not caught up to where I am." It's just silence, an occasional sip of day-old coffee, a roll of the window to clear the air. It's the last few minutes of my almost lifelong stay in the small town we've lived in, and it should feel like home, if anything.

Two seconds away from the terminal, my sister lurches to a stop. "Kid, call me your mom."

I almost laugh, both anxious as hell, and dying to cry. "No, I have to go. I'm gonna miss my flight."

"That's literally what I said before," Leanna drives forward for a bit and opens her door to get my belongings. "Yeah, okay. Maybe I'll ACTUALLY miss you."

"Shut up." All my baggage is in place now. My sister stares at me for a moment, and spreads out her arms. There's no cigarette in her mouth.

"Give me a hug."

I embrace her for the last time, tears making their way out of my eyes. My fighter, partner, sister. I'm going away- this is it. I probably won't be able to see her for a number of years. "Bye, mom." I quickly let go, flinching in response to the honking cars behind us. "Later, gator."