Boston to Los Angeles
Tuesday, May 11
From 30,000 Feet
I spent the last minutes of freedom, before the alarms went off to wake people only feigning sleep, wondering what the hell I had been thinking. It didn’t feel real. It felt like stuff was just happening; my luggage seemed to pop out of nowhere and packed itself (actually my mom and sister packed for me while I Skype-smoked a cigarette with Hadley) and an E-2 Visa appeared in my passport. After all this waiting and all of these delays, I almost thought it would never really happen. But it did, despite how hard I fought it in the end.
Early on in this process I had told my parents that I did not want them to take me to the airport. I am not one for extended so-longs and my will to go through the security line has all but been destroyed when I looked over my shoulder to see my mom all teary eyed and my dad smiling at me.
At one point I was actually going to take a limo to the airport but it didn’t happen. Instead, I found myself trying to rush past my sobbing mother and into the car as my Dad waited idling in the dark.
By the way, when I say sobbing, I actually mean balling her eyes out as though one of her beloved cats had finally jumped into the oven. It was R-O-U-G-H. It almost pushed me past my limit, but I choked most back and was in the car and on the Mass Pike; flying to uncertainty and fear.
My father drove me and for my sake he keeps thing cool.
Now, I am not a religious guy by any means. When it comes to organized churches and afterlives I just sort of try and do my best and hope that things turn out ok. My prayers are thoughts to remember those who have gone to the great adventure before me. I rarely ask God for anything as I am not sure I am comfortable with the idea of leaving a lot of my life in the hands of something that probably has better things to do.
I prayed in the car. I begged in the car. I pleaded, as though for clemency and my life, that I wouldn’t be a line from an Alanis Morisette song. I pleaded to be panic free (being abandoned in Mexico and left to wander alone has a tendency to give you panic attacks) and that the drugs wouldn’t lead to me being dragged off the plane naked and screaming (totally ripped that off from Brandon). Hey, it can’t hurt right?
We pulled up to the terminal and soon my bags were sitting on the curb. My Dad stepped out and wished me luck. His hand patting my back was nearly the end of it all. I often think that it would be easier for me to leave if I had family issues, but I don’t. In fact, over the past several months I had stopped taking these little insignificant moments with my family for granted. I knew right then that I would miss a lot: walking my dog, playing with my cats, my sister, trying to get my mom to walk my dog and drinking brandy with my father in Manville.
Deep inside I told myself that it would all be there when I came back. I grabbed my bags and walked through the sliding doors and glanced back as the Cavalier drove off into the rising sun. My idleness was over; now was the time for living.
The airport could have gone a bit smoother. I could have looked at my itinerary and saw that I was flying United and perhaps would have been spared the 30 minute wait standing in the American line. This would have also spared me the seemingly half mile walk from terminal B to terminal C.
If I knew I had to take my belt off for security then I would have buttoned my fly.
So, I am writing this from 30,000 feet in the air, about 35 minutes from L.A. and I am happy to say I am, thus far, panic free. In fact, I almost enjoyed the flight. Four of the 6 hours were spent in a Benzo delirium in which I could not play a game of solitaire in less than 45 minutes. I came out of it right as The Middle started to play -I mean it’s no Modern Family but beggars can’t be choosers. Also, Modern Family better be around when I get back
One flight down. One monster of a flight to go.
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