Ache of the Past

"On behalf of Caldecott Airlines and the entire crew, I'd like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice day!"

The plane's speakers leave a short static before going dead silent as the head pilot finishes his regular speech. I look outside the window, the clouds giving way to houses and a few buildings becoming more visible as our plane inches closer to the ground.

Caldecott. I never knew I will come back.

The plane lands smoothly, and soon enough, the passengers file out, eager to see the small town infamous for it being a place out of a Hallmark Christmas card, small houses with chimneys, covered in snow, and fairy lights twinkling as the night comes. I grab my purse from the ground and stand up, adjusting the sunglasses on my face.

My eyes wander around the whole airport, taking it all in. Caldecott has been a small town since I was born, but now, it seems that civilization has finally caught up. The airport's built is a mixture of glass and metal a shining silver. I also notice the influx of tourists has doubled as I go through the different points, eventually finding myself in front of the small area where people who pick up their family and friends wait. I look around, not seeing anyone from my own family among the crowd.

I sigh. Did they forget I'm coming in today?

Opening my purse, I get my phone and punched our house phone number, ready to berate who answers for forgetting that I am in the airport by now. Our house is an hour away from here and my body is stiff from the flight that I do not plan to spend time sitting my butt on a plastic blue chair that's spaced around the area.

But before I touch the dial button, an unknown number. Hesitant, I put the phone to my ear.

"Who is this?" I ask in a clip voice, hoping that the fatigue transcends through speakers and the caller will know I am not in the mood for pranks or jokes.

"Freya."

With one word, I still at the sound the voice. The buzz from around the airport drops to a dead silence, and in that moment, I curse myself for coming back. The voice calls out my name again, waking my senses up.

"How did you get my number?" I ask.

He sighs. "I'm outside, look for the red Chevy."

Rolling my eyes, I say, "I don't want to go with you. Go home and ask someone else to pick me up.'

He chuckles, his laugh a memory from years ago.

"Don't be petty, Freya. Your family asked me, even if I go back, they won't send someone else and you'll rot here waiting for a cab."

I let out an angry sigh, knowing he's right. My family hasn't let us off the hook trying to rekindle the old high school romance we once had, and as it is the eve of Christmas, the line of cabs is bare, and more people are already waiting for one.

"Fine," I say, hanging up and grabbing my small suitcase behind me to go outside.

As I stepped out, the air gets colder and I shiver, wishing I bought a scarf from the stands inside. I survey the line of cars and cabs amongst the throng of people, looking out for a red Chevy. I try to find it, in vain. As I get my phone again, thinking he pulled some prank on me, a bright red Chevy truck stops right in front of me.

I try to see through the windows, but my sunglasses didn't help me in making out what is beyond the tinted glass. Seeing the silhouette of a man, I assume it's him, I walk over, knocking my gloved hands against the window. Seconds after, the window comes down, and I see his face again.