When a Bird Flies

Chapter 2

We try to never say Goodbye in my home. Even if Blake is going on a trip for a week or two, she might say something like "See you soon" or "I'll take pictures," but never Goodbye. It's a delicate word in this house, like any other bad word would be. To us, Goodbye is practically a cuss word that you avoid at all costs.

When my dad and Blake dropped me off at the airport this morning, I couldn't say Goodbye even if I wanted to. It felt like a word that my mouth just didn't know how to form. So I hugged them tightly. When I let go, I knew that hug was more of a Goodbye than if I had just said it. My dad was crying, so I was crying. Blake wasn't crying; she's always been stronger than me. I promised them I'd be back for Christmas and send them a postcard and send pictures of Big Ben and all the other stuff that you're required to promise your family when you leave for London. And as I walked through the automatic doors leading inside, I looked back and waved. Blake waved back enthusiastically and gave a big smile, and my dad mouthed "I love you" as he waved. I mouthed it back and started walking.

Now I sit in my window seat, ready as I'll ever be for an Adventure of a Lifetime--that's what I've been calling it to make it actually sound appealing. I look out the window as the plane sits still, welcoming its many passengers. An elderly woman sits next to me and smiles, and I smile back and try to say hi but it comes out as more of a whisper. I turn my attention back to the window as the sounds of feet shuffling and voices chatting and phones beeping fill my ears. Soon enough, the flight attendant begins telling the passengers how to adjust their seat belts, and the pilot tells us the current weather and time in London. The flight attendant silently demonstrates how to put on one of the oxygen masks, and I think about the pros and cons of having her job. Pro: you get to travel to so many different places. Con: It doesn't seem like you'd get much time to relax. Pro: you get to meet lots of people with many different stories. Con: you have to demonstrate and say the same things over and over every day. I have met people who didn't like their jobs--they didn't have to say it, it was obvious--but as I looked at this woman, she looked quite content. It made me think about how lucky I felt to work at Harris. To wake up every day and be excited for work is a foreign concept to my family. My dad has worked in the same cubicle at the same paper company since he was my age, and Blake has had several different jobs as a waitress, barista, sales assistant at a clothing store, cashier at a movie theater, babysitter, the list goes on. She is still trying to find her calling.

"Miss?" A voice pulls me out of my thoughts and I look over to find the flight attendant with a cart full of different beverages. She asks me if I would like something to drink. I can't believe I was so lost in thought that I didn't even notice the plane take off. I politely decline and she moves on to the next row of people. The elderly woman next to me is already asleep, so I try to follow her lead and get comfy. It's never been easy for me to sleep on planes, but this will be the longest flight I've ever been on and I know I'll need to sleep sometime. I pull my hood over my head and close my eyes. It takes about twenty minutes and a lot of different positions in my seat, but I finally start to feel myself drift off.

I'm woken up by dings and beeps and voices. As I open my eyes, there's a split second where I forget where I am. I sit up and wipe the sleep out of my eyes with the back of my hand before looking around. Many people have their phones out, taking photos of the bright city below. I look out my window at the pitch black sky, and when I look down at the city I notice some familiar landmarks. The Shard. The Tower Bridge. Woah, I'm here. The pilot turns the seat belt sign on and tells the cabin that we'll be landing shortly. I'm surprised at how excited I am. My eyes never leave the city as the plane starts lowering.

As I step off the plane, I check my phone for the time: 12:00am. This time change is going to kill me. It's not that cold outside, since it's July, but still colder than I was prepared for. I pull my sweatshirt sleeves over my hands and walk towards the baggage claim. When I find my bag I walk out of the airport, ready to find a taxi. It's the strangest feeling having to do this alone--it makes me think about the summer dad took Blake and me to New York for a week when we were little. Every time dad would try to hail a cab, he'd hold on to our hands with one of his and wave his other hand out as if he were stranded on an island and saw a rescue boat close by. I'd do that now, but there are a few taxis already parked outside the airport and it would be pretty ridiculous of me to flail around while they're right there. I walk up to one of the taxi drivers and ask for a ride, and he nods his head and puts my luggage in the trunk while I get into the back seat. As he gets into the driver's seat--on the right side!--I tell him where I need to go and he starts exiting the airport. He doesn't try to make small talk with me while he's driving, and a part of me is grateful for this while the other part is disappointed.

After about twenty minutes, we arrive at the new flat--I have to get used to saying "flat" instead of house--Blake and I found a couple weeks ago and I get my luggage out of the trunk. I pay the taxi driver and he leaves me there with my stuff. I look at the flat for a moment before I attempt to bring my bags inside. It's relatively normal-looking, with brick walls and skinny windows with white window sills. Big lanterns are spaced evenly along the road, and one of them shines brightly right next to my front steps. There are about six steps up to my front door, so I grab my carry-on bag and fling it over my shoulder and then grab my larger bag and drag it behind me up the steps. Already winded, I remember what Sharon, the woman who rented me the flat, had told me about her leaving the key under the mat for me. I lift up the mat and pick up the key, feeling gleeful for a brief moment because now this key is mine, and so is this house. I mean flat.

When I get my bags inside and shut the front door, I look around. I'm thankful that Sharon left most of the original furniture here, like the dining table, couch, chairs, book shelves minus the books (which I wasn't too upset about because I had my own little library to fill the shelves with), and other little end tables and shelves for pictures and knick-knacks. The kitchen is tiny but I'm the only one here so it doesn't really bother me. I walk up a short and narrow staircase to the bedroom and bathroom, and walk in to find a bed frame but no mattress. Of course I had expected this, and shipped my mattress here about a week ago. It leans against the wall by the bed, and I put my bags on the ground so I can tend to it. This is definitely not a one-person job, but after tripping over myself a few times I manage to get the mattress onto the bed frame. I grab the pillow I brought and throw it on top before grabbing my sheets out of my larger bag. After making the bed, I walk into my bathroom to take a shower. I bring all my toiletries and a towel in with me and put some things into the cabinet above the sink before I undress and step into the skinny shower. It takes a while--a long while--for the water to heat up, but once it does it's exactly what I needed after this long day.

My favorite thing about this flat by far is the tall window in my bedroom. It was the first thing that made me want to rent this place. It stretches from the ceiling to a cozy little alcove, and I could just picture myself nestled in there every day, reading or sipping tea or just gazing at the city around me. I walk over to the window and open the thin curtain, welcoming myself to my new home in the cushiony alcove. I open the window just a bit, a light breeze finding its way into the room. The sounds of the city echo in my ears, and I close my eyes and listen closely to the wind blowing and the cars honking and the friends laughing. It's a big change from the calm beachside sounds back home, which makes me a little homesick, so I pull my phone out of my pocket and send quick texts to Blake and dad. I let them know I'm safe and that I miss them already. Blake texts back, saying that the house already feels totally different without me there. I begin to feel even more homesick. I leave my cozy alcove and walk over to my bed, getting under the covers in one swift motion. I turn off the small lamp next to me and the room goes dark. I hear a loud honk from outside and more people laughing and talking below, and I start to cry. It's only my first night, I tell myself. It's supposed to suck my first night. I'm supposed to be homesick my first night. I wipe my tears away and try to relax, concentrating on my breathing and nothing else. I can do this, I tell myself. I can do this, it's the Adventure of a Lifetime.