Page 27 of Flying

“What do you mean that you are always alone?” she gently prods as I stare off into space after that admission.

This is really hard. “Umm, well.” I’m twisting inside trying to figure out what to say to her. “I just wish that I knew someone else finds me worth sticking around for.” It’s out before I can hold back. I’m fidgeting, and unable to still myself, I adjust my posture again a few more times but nothing brings me comfort.

“Who told you that you were not worth sticking around for?” Dorothea’s eyes are soft, there’s no judgment but she’s skeptical.

“Umm, nobody said it exactly, but, my folks and the entire town took Grant’s side. I was berated with questions about how I didn’t perform as a wife, and holes were poked into every corner of my actions.” I pause, my anger rising.

“But, I really don’t think I could do anything to prevent him from leaving me. I could have tried to say no more: when our moms pushed me to delay college, when they pushed me to have the wedding so quickly, and so on.

“But, then again, I was young and naive enough to think playing house would be an adventure. I figured we were adults on paper, so we were in charge. I didn’t realize how little power or control over my own life I would have in that setting. Since I left, since high school ended, I’ve floated from place to place and thing to thing. Sometimes, I mean, sometimes, it is amazing. I have been able to keep my whole life in my Wrangler, Peter Pan is always at my side so I’m never lonely. Except, sometimes, I am lonely. I can’t understand how my parents are so angry that they won’t speak to me. My mom walkedaway like I was made of air when I saw her in September. That hurt. A lot…” I drift and stall, unsure what to do now. That was a lot of honesty.

“That was really brave of you,” she encourages me, “and a lot of honesty.”

Damn, did she read my mind?Can she tell me what to do next too then, because that would be amazing.

“Unfortunately, I can’t tell you what to do from here because that would be someone else to please for you. Someone else whose opinion you either weigh more important than your own, or someone to run from. Instead, I want to know what an adventurous and entrepreneurial woman like you sees that makes you ask about each of these diagnoses? What feels true to you, and what feels like a stretch. Take the next week, since our time is just about up, and write it all down. When we meet again we can compare your feelings with what I’ve observed the last few weeks, and come up with a plan together.”

twenty-one

River

November

When I left Vermont,I did my best to return to a somewhat normal rhythm of life. There’s been a lot of excuses made between us to shorten our evening chats but they haven’t fully disappeared. During closing most nights my fingers take on a mind of their own and I hover over the top contact: Lily. As that thought makes its way through my head, I see a notification pop up with her name.

Lily:

Hello from the Moab desert!

River:

Hello from the basement

Lily:

River:

I always finda reason to talk about the nothingness of the day now that it’s obvious to me her online life is a complete ruse. She has so few genuine connections in the world and I will not admit my crush, turning myself into another horny man whose focus isdat ass.

It’s a fantastic ass, don’t get me wrong. Her last photo is in the mirror so you can see her face and back. Her hair grew longer in the last couple months and continues to cascade over her shoulders, and now skims the top of the swell of her breasts in that sports bra. It’s a rich emerald green, reminding me of the pine trees everyone has been dragging home for holiday events.I wonder what it’s like for her to spend holidays without family. Her posture makes it so the tiniest swell of cleavage is visible in her reflection, showing off her perfectly round and perky tits. Damn, do I want to know how they would feel…wait what am I thinking about?

It’s a Monday afternoon and the bar is closed, as is industry standards, so I am unloading deliveries in the different storage and stock locations. As I wipe down the bar top, I think about the first George to own and operate Thee Featherweight with his wife, Molly. I can’t wait to have a partner, a real one. Delia is an amazing worker, but this isn’t her dream. She’s just trying to find her way and I know it but I’d never throw it in her face.

Heading into the basement, the cool stones hold in the necessary chill for the aging home distilled spirits and brewed beers. I take all of the practical steps to check inventory and ensure things are stored and working properly, just like Grandpa taught me when I was nine years old.

The cool beige painted cinder blocks and tiny dark alcoves remind me of being a teen. Grandpa would hide a secret stash of alcohol I could swipe for my friends, because he had pre-watered down the bottles and they were hardly alcoholic by the time we got a hold of them. Grant, Seth, and I would play truth or dare and I’d wait for them to request these terrible drinks.

I can see myself sitting in that circle, palms sweating, wishing I could ask them to be my wingmen but too afraid of rejection. I always hoped that she could be the brave one, or that Nessa would instigate a game of spin the bottle since she teased the idea so often.My prayer that someone else could intervene and make this happen for us remains unanswered.

“Shit!” I scream in the present and hear it echoing into the darkness. The complicated layers of time, friends, parents, and the opinions of others swirl inside my head.

I climb up the steps to meet Carmine Salvatore for our biweekly delivery from the butcher shop, when Ava Marie and Bella Salvatore’s voices drift through the open doorway.

Bella is irritated as she pushes the empty hand truck my way and scoffs, “Nonna needs to talk to you, but I’m not doing the heavy lifting, even if I’ll drive.” She opens a strip of gum and begins to chew with loud pops and snaps.

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