Love Has a Color

Nervous Fliers

"You know, we're only going for the weekend," Asher tells me.

I make a tsk sound with my tongue, looking at him pointedly. "It's only two bags, Ash! One is clothes and shoes, the other is makeup and a curling iron. It's not even a big bag. Both of mine together are smaller than your one so, who's really over packed?"

He laughs and shakes his head at me. "You're cute when you're acting all defensive." He sets his bag in the car and walks around to the front. I'm thankful he moved away before he could see my clearly flushed face.

I really just want to walk up and look him straight in the eyes, right now, and set the precedent for the weekend. "Look, Asher, you absolutely cannot say things like that to me. I'm in danger of falling hopelessly in love with you. If you keep doing things like calling me cute, or smiling, or laughing, or breathing, things are going to end horribly for me. So, please, keep yourself under control this weekend." Thank God, I didn't really say any of that to him and just settled with a quick, dorky "let's get this show on the road!" Which, in turn, made him laugh again and break unspoken rule number three.

We're driving to the airport and not even a minute after pulling out of my driveway Violet is texting, from the living room.

How is it? Is everything going okay? -V

Oh everything is great! The flight was surprisingly short, we're already there! Having a grand time! -S

Okay, ha ha. Point taken. I'll wait at least ten minutes before asking again. -V

She does as promised, waiting exactly ten minutes before asking for an update. Honestly, I thought the issue was going to be surviving the weekend with Asher. Now, I'm seeing that it may be soothing Violet and her insatiable appetite for other people's love lives. Or, lack there-of if we're being technical.

I end up deciding to just set my phone to airplane mode before we even get through security. If I look down and see one more text from her I may just break the phone.

We get through the airport successfully and eventually actually get on the plane. I'm sitting next to Asher, in the window seat, after an extensive argument about who would sit where. Of course he got first class tickets, meaning there are two seats. The aisle seat, or the good seat. I cross my legs at the ankles and lean forward to play with the papers in the pouch in front of me. I absentmindedly flip through one of the safety pamphlets, then I tap my fingers on the armrest, and finally I start messing with the window itself. Sliding the little cover up and down, up and down, up and down.

I hate being on planes. The flying itself doesn't make me nervous, just the fact that I have nothing to do and nowhere to go for like six hours. I feel fine for a few minutes, then I start getting anxious. I get all jittery and nauseous and I just feel like I can't get comfortable. I need something to keep me busy. Sleep would be ideal, but I've never been able to fall asleep on a flight. I get distracted by noises other people make, how much time has gone by since the last time I checked, what's outside the window.

"Scar, stop," Asher warns, grabbing my hand. "You're going to break it. Open or closed, pick one."

I sigh and, predictably, roll my eyes. "Open." He lets go of my hand and reaches over top of me. I shiver slightly as his arm brushes my shoulder, then pull myself together quickly after he pushes the window cover back up. I look out the window for a moment, but get bored of staring at the tarmac. Swinging my feet back and forth underneath my chair, I take a look at the inside of the plane. I hum quietly to myself as I take in my surroundings.

Planes are so dull. Stupid blue carpet, worn down from countless dirty shoes stomping back and forth on it. Tiny windows with dumb, little, plastic sliding covers. Semi-comfortable tan seats, with useless pamphlets filling the torn mesh pockets. A smell that I can only describe as the lobby of a three star hotel in the middle of Kentucky at two A.M.