Playlist
Listen On Spotify
“Goodbye” – NF
“Butterfly” – Crazy Town
“Hard to Love” – Calvin Harris Ft. Jessie Reyez
“Everlong” – Foo Fighters
“Cherry Hill” – Russ
“Lose Yourself” – Eminem
“Wild Horses” – The Rolling Stones
“Time after time” – Cyndi Lauper
“Lust for Life” – Lana Del Ray Ft. The Weekend
“Great One” – Jessie Reyez
“High Hopes” – Kodaline
“Shot at the night” – The Killers
“Starlings” – Elbow
“Unforgettable” – French Montana, Swae Lee
“To be Human” – Sia Labrinth
“My heart’s always yours” – Arkells
“Only One” - NF
Tall, dark, and inked
Present day
EVA
“In the unlikely event of an evacuation, the lights at ground level will guide you to the exit. On this aircraft, exits are located as follows…two doors at the front, four over the wings, and two doors at the rear.”
The tall, stylish flight attendant points in the direction of the exits, while another attendant continues her spiel through the speakers about the safety procedures aboard the airplane. All of which I hope to never need.
Mid-to-late-twenties, he’s attractive with angular, chiseled bone structure, stunning blue eyes, and eyebrows shaped better than most women’s. He’s pretty and young. So young, he could easily pass for a teenager. Next to the airline pin on his jacket with his name, Trevor, there’s another pin of the American flag.
It’s been well over a decade since I’ve stepped foot on US soil—my birthplace and what I still consider my home for so many reasons. My first, albeit brief, stop was New York City—well, really LaGuardia. I didn’t leave the airport, just hustled through the terminals to catch my next flight.
At the boarding gate, the flashing red delayed next to my flight details left me deflated and sticky with sweat from the spontaneous sprint across the terminal. The strap of my carry-on fell from my shoulder to dangle from my wrist.
I could have grabbed a coffee—the time difference was kicking in. On the upside, the wait wasn’t going to be too long, only forty minutes, and we would be in the air to LA. With the extra time, food, drink, and reading material were at the top of my list, right after the bathroom.
Once done in the restroom, I texted Bianca, my sister, and she roamed my mind while I wandered the kiosks and shops. She isn’t expecting me. My departure from Spain was spur-of-the-moment, and if I’d told anyone about my plans, I wouldn’t be here.
Miguel would have stopped me. He is most probably just figuring out now that I’m gone. I’m not proud of the way I left things, with only a few lines on a piece of paper, but like most things with him, I had no choice. Face to face would have been the proper way to tell him I was going back to the US. The decent thing given our history.
But if he had even an inkling of my desire to come back to the United States, he’d have stopped me and called in reinforcements to make sure I had no way of escaping.
For too long, others have been calling the shots, and that’s why Miguel and Bianca couldn’t be told ahead of time. And forget about Papi. There’s no way in hell I would have talked to him about going out on my own. I may be twenty-nine but he treats me like I’m a toddler.
Even still, guilt tugs at my insides. I don’t want to worry anyone and that’s what my family does. I get a headache and they’d wring their hands, insisting on checking my vitals as if they are doctors.
And for way too long, I’ve let them carry on this song and dance. Stupidly, I went along with it, thinking it’s how we’d all survive. But I can’t take it anymore. Long before Miguel’s betrayal, I’d had rare moments when the fire in my belly would ignite.
The sizzle and heat would urge me to break free and live life to the fullest—that’s what Jared would want for me—and I’d beg Miguel to try something new. A trip to the Great Barrier Reef or the Grand Canyon or the Amazon. And on every occasion, his response was as predictable as time.
“You’re being childish and fanciful. That isn’t who you are. You belong here, with me.” He’d kiss my forehead, his moustache tickling my flesh, and then walk away, leaving me scolded for my rash whimsy.
There was the odd time when he might waver, only to come to his senses and dissuade me with an endless barrage of excuses, most of which made no sense and only served to make me feel ungrateful and selfish. After all, he had given his life for me—staying put at his side was the least I could do.
But in the end, his deceit opened my eyes. And now, not even the obligation or guilt is enough to keep me in Barcelona, because here I am, sitting in first class, on my way to Los Angeles.
A night of stale air, white noise, and strangers is ahead of me.
“Good evening.” The brunette flight attendant hands me a warm hand towel with plastic tongs. “Are you heading to LA for business or pleasure?”
“Neither.” I glance at the empty seat beside me. “I’m going home, I suppose.”
“That makes me think of a Thomas Wolfe novel. You know what they say—you can’t go home again.”
“True, but one can try.” My response is wistful, and she commiserates with a hopeful smile before moving on to the row behind me.
Los Angeles is no longer my home. I could have easily stayed in New York or anywhere else, yet there are so many memories in LA. The city calls to me, if even for only a visit. It might not be where I eventually settle down, but for now, it’s where I want to be.
And truthfully, it isn’t for my sister. She lives in LA, and there was a time when I longed to be close to her, but we hardly know each other anymore. And if I’m brutally honest, we aren’t close. I’m not sure we ever were.
There was a time, briefly, after…well, after everything changed when I thought we might be more than sisters in name only. That didn’t last long.
No, I’m going to LA for my own reasons. There’s an incessant and irrefutable need to be there. The loss and sorrow will never go away but there’s something calling me. I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, yet I’m filled with the hope I may find whatever it is.
The attendant places my drink on the tray and I open my e-book. Reading usually centers me, fills me, although it isn’t likely to help right now. I’m anxious to get to my final destination.
Even tired, I’m restless and not near ready to sleep. Glossy magazines stuff the leather pocket of the seat in front of me. I realize I never did pick up any reading material in the airport.
My hand curls around the stack, and I pull them from the pouch. The one on top is Bloomberg Businessweek with a familiar looking man in a well-tailored suit on the cover. A small smile spreads across my face. Miguel will want to read this.
Because old habits die hard, my hand flicks to the empty seat beside me, ready to give him the magazine. Dazed, I pause. He isn’t here.