That Was Then

60-Now

I can't get another flight home until Tuesday. Okay, maybe I could have but I find every excuse not to. I don't want more than one layover, I refuse to go through Chicago after the last time when I got stuck there for two days. I don't want too early of a flight because I don't trust that I will wake up on time. 

I spend Monday avoiding Caleb's texts and watching Petra work. She is amazing. Brilliant and captivating as she delivers her lines and if I wasn't worried about missing classes I would be tempted to stay even longer. Her presence is theraputic and after a few days with her I have myself convinced that I am ready to take on the world by the time we hug goodbye outside of her apartment. The Uber driver waits while we embrace. Petra offers only a half hug because she holds a pint of Half Baked ice cream in one hand.

"Breakfast of champions," she says around a mouthful when I raise an eyebrow at her. I swear ice cream is the foundation of her food pyramid. She is barefoot on the cool concrete with a pair of plaid shorts and a shirt that I suspect is Damon's. I catch a wiff of cologne when I hug her.

"Come with me," I say for the hundreth time. Even though I'm ready to handle whatever mess is waiting for me at home, I'd definitely prefer to handle it with Petra by my side.

"I wish," Petra shoves another bite of ice cream in her mouth, "gotta work." As if on cue, her cell phone cries out from her chest where she has it tucked into her bra. She just rolls her eyes and ignores it. "I'll come visit soon, I promise." I just nod and hug her again.

"Hey, don't get ice cream in my hair!" I squeal when she wraps both arms around me and hugs tightly.

My confidence wanes as I take my seat on the plane. I lift the window shade up, then put it down, then slide it up again. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the city smog shines onto my lap. The plane fills with business men and women in pant suits carrying brief cases. A short balding man barking loudly into his cell starts walking down the aisle and I send up a silent prayer that he does not sit next to me. Thankfully, he takes a seat two rows behind me but he might as well be right next to me as loudly as he is speaking.

It's nearly time for take off and the seat next to me is still open, as are the ones across the aisle. I'm starting to think I will have the entire row to myself to stew over my problems undisturbed when a woman enters the plane with a tiny baby in one arm, pulling a toddler with the other. Following close behind her is a little girl hefting a backpack, diaper bag and two rolling suitcases. The toddler stops to wave a chubby little hand at every passenger on the way down the aisle. When they finally reach my row the mom turns to the little girl then looks up at the overhead bins looking perplexed.

"Oh great," obnoxious phone man says behind us, "I can't believe I'm stuck on a four hour plane ride with crying babies!" Never mind the fact that the baby is sound asleep and the toddler has already claimed the window seat, quietly pressing his face against the thick plastic.

I watch along with the rest of the passengers as the woman blows a loose strand of hair out of her face while single-handedly swinging a rolling suitcase up into the overhead bin. She looks a bit frazzled, like his comment just might make her lose it. Instead she turns to the man and flashes a brilliant smile at him.

"Right? The only thing worse is loud mouthed, judgmental old men! Good thing there aren't any of them on this flight," she offers an exaggerated wink and turns back to her older child. I half expect the crowd to applaud her witty remark but they don't, a few snickers ripple through the plane and everyone goes back to their own business. I jump up and offer her a hand with the rest of their bags.

The little girl sits next to me once all of the luggage is stowed away. Her name is Hannah and she's six and a half she tells me in the important way that little kids announce their age. "Are you nervous?" She asks me as the plane begins to taxi. My mind has wandered back to my worries. "My mama says some people get scared to fly and that's okay, if you're scared you can hold my hand!" She grasps my hand in hers, "I've flown three times now and I'm not scared anymore!" She lets go of my hand when we are in the air and I have no time for self pity the rest of the flight because Hannah spends the next four hours teaching me everything there is to know about snow leopards. And if you didn't know, there is quite a lot to know about them. 

"I'm sorry," her mom mouths sheepishly when she catches my eye. The baby is still sound asleep against her chest with her tiny little mouth open wide and the toddler has fallen asleep curled against her side. They hardly make a sound the entire flight, which is more than I can say for obnoxious phone guy. He argues with a flight attendant twice and then even when he falls asleep, he snores loudly. 

"It's fine," I reassure Hannah's mom. And it is.