I was writing this in 5th period the other day. I'll be adding on to it soon. [And yes, I am aware of all of the dependent clauses.]
As I looked out of the airplane window, all I saw was darkness. Looking into the void, I felt more alone than I ever before had in my whole life. Alone, but not lonely. On the verge of tears, I smiled. My emotions were competing with each other, but surely, they came down to one overwhelming feeling -- peace.
It's always these times when you know precisely where your life should be that you think about death the most. Lost, you're too busy looking for an answer to contemplate these things. Found, but unable to exist. There, that is when you begin to wonder. It's not a desire to die, or to kill yourself, but a mere curiosity. I looked down from the window and wondered how it would *feel* to be free-falling from it, or how painful and quick, yet exhilarating plunging thousands of feet would be.
They played our song at the airport bar when I was waiting for my delayed flight. I knew you were thinking about me; these kinds of things always happen when you are -- at least when you are more intensely than usual. I sent you a text letting you know that "Play with Fire" by the Stones could be heard over the irritated voices of all the others stuck in Philly in December because of the snow. As I did so, memories came flooding back to me of that night at your uncle's -- the night I became drunker than I ever had. That first bottle of wine was supposed to be for the both of us, but it ended up being mainly for me as you spent all night nursing one glass. I joked about your tolerance, although I knew you had been drinking since 5. The second bottle of wine, that was all mine. Your friends would not stop pouring, and they were so kind -- at least from what they said to me in English. Who knows what they exclaimed to each other about me in Serbo-Croatian?
At first, you were playing songs that they knew on the guitar. I laughed along as they sang words I couldn't comprehend, smiled as they looked at me. "Sing a song for your Beloved," the one to your right said. You smiled and squeezed my hand. Maybe it was all the wine, but I remember you singing better than Mick Jagger.
"I thought about you all day!" was your reply to my text, and I didn't know quite what to make of it at first. The exclamation point made it appear to take on an angry tone out of context, but I knew it was far from it. "Like I hadn't been," was the first thought to come to my mind, and my equally tactless reply.
I really could have used that ginger ale to settle my stomach. What kind of bar ran out of ginger ale, honestly? It was bad enough that the concourse had decided to close all of their bathrooms for cleaning at precisely the same time. So, alas, my stomach groaned at the ineffectiveness of the water against combating all of the Italian food I ate in New York City.
...Oh well. Getting back to my normal diet will improve things -- although that will be a difficult task to accomplish during the holidays. Sweets overtake the pantry and alcohol covers the counters -- and just enough free time to not only consume it all, but also to gain the inevitable, undesirable twelve pounds of Christmas.
I was soon back at our concourse, waiting to board. My eyes met Clarice's as they called our boarding group. "I need to go to the bathroom," she said, looking at me with a goofy smile. "Can you hold my place in line?"
"Sure." My many failed attempts to transport all of our carry-ons to the line was eventually met with success. If you would call being in front of nosy, overly friendly Northern rednecks to be success. Looking at them, my thoughts immediately went to the plethora of pick-up trucks and sport utility vehicles driving through Valley Forge with dead deer lying on haphazardly attached trailers, fur blowing in the chilly winter air as the hitches rattled like sleigh bells of carnage.
I sighed as they made contact by pointing out something hanging out of my friend's carry-on and attempting a play at humour. I sarcastically and haughtily replied to their remark, hoping to put them at bay with scathing egoism. Soon ensued the infamous trivia question, which of course began with the words, "So, I have a question for you." The wife's annoyance with her husband was only mildly apparent as he asked, "Who's Chuck Taylor?" I looked down at my All Star high tops and rested my head in my hands for a moment before responding. Before the conversation could progress too much further, my comrade had returned and the plane had begun boarding.
I looked over to Clarice with interest after holding up my share of traffic by tossing one of my carry-ons into the overhead bin. I gave her a goofy grin, and she laughed in return. "I love traveling with you. What more could I ask for? I like the window, you like the aisle. We're made for each other."
"I love you, dude!" she returned, laughing. And thus began that sinking feeling that one gets upon realizing that one has to return to their mundane, normal life. And what had I to return to? Routine, a great lacking of intellectual conversation, and those dreaded twelve holiday pounds. However, my inherent self-loathing was temporarily abated as the pilot insisted that he'd "fly the plane like he stole it" to get us to our destination as soon as possible.
Clarice soon fell asleep, and I ordered the Diet Coke that she requested, something I knew she'd never drink. I assumed with little doubt that Clarice would be out the whole trip. She somehow managed to look peaceful whilst traveling at 500 miles per hour. I could never fall asleep on a plane -- too much wind noise and pressure in my ears. So, instead, I took out a novel that I hadn't touched since I was last in the air and threw it down in a fit of rage.
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