All We Leave Behind

All We Leave Behind - Chapter Ten

Ten

I’d never overstayed my welcome before but this time I wasn’t so sure. At breakfast we barely spoke. Adam kept his nose squarely in his paper. He was polite but curt and impersonal. It wasn’t Adam. He’d seemed distant, withdrawn. During the taxi to the airport I had time to think. Last night kept replaying in my head. I’d let my anger get the best of me again when I’d lashed out at Terry. I remembered Adam’s face when he had said he shouldn’t have let Nancy go. The worst part is I was almost certain he wouldn’t call her. That he’d make the same mistake again. That he’d just keep repeating himself until he was old and alone.

I’d caught an early flight from LAX to Toronto. Long flights were the worst. I tried to sleep but I was situated on the aisle and each time I started to doze off, a steward clipped me with their cart. It didn’t help either that the rather heavy woman in the window seat next to me was snoring at a decibel threatening to drown out the plane’s engines. I uncomfortably shifted in my seat. In truth I hated flying. I mean the convenience was undeniable but I never felt comfortable up in the skies. It was someplace we just weren’t meant to be. I was thankful I’d remembered to pick up gum from one of the stores before getting on the plane. I hated the way the ears popped as you ascended and descended. The change in pressure was just too much.

The plane’s descent had begun. Nervously, a worst case scenario flickered into my mind. If something went wrong with the plane who would mourn my passing? My father certainly wouldn’t. My sister? Possibly. Maybe now and then Adam would think of me as that writer that never reached his potential. I chewed at my gum and swallowed hard feeling my ears pop. If I died now, what had I accomplished? I was alone, miserable and I wasn’t doing nearly enough to fix it. I checked my seatbelt to ensure it was firmly in place. It was the third time I’d checked it in the last minute. ‘Get a grip John.’ I whispered under my breath. I felt the plane jerk slightly as the wheels touched down. The anxiety hadn’t disappeared with the landing as I’d expected it would. How long had I wanted to change things, how long had I known I needed to make changes? Why wasn’t I making them?

From the airport I’d caught a taxi. It was colder now and there was a chill in the air. The leaves were starting to turn shades of yellow and red. The sight of the bright foliage brought a flood of memories. My brother was just three years older than me but at certain points in our lives those three years seemed to separate us greatly. We were in different worlds. I was twelve, in my last year of elementary school. I was a tiny kid looking closer to ten years of age in appearance, while my brother had already become a young man. He’d filled out his frame and no longer looked as boyish. He was already in his third year of high school. The school bus had dropped me off and as I walked towards home I saw him raking leaves in the front yard. Small piles of golden yellows and reddish browns littered the lawn. I broke into a run with my backpack bouncing against my back with each step. A large grin was forming on my face.

“Don’t you dare kick my piles!” He shouted at me more playful than angry. I made a dash for the biggest pile. He dropped his rake and ran to intercept. He was right behind me and I started giggling. I was managing to stay out of the reach of his outstretched arms. It was exhilarating and I was laughing and squealing as I kicked at one of the piles. He was on me almost instantly, scooping me up with his right arm and lifting me effortlessly into the air. He swung me up and then downward quickly only breaking the speed of descent at the moment before dropping me gently into a pile of leaves. He was laughing as he tickled me. I was squirming and jerking my legs out uncontrollably. I could barely catch my breath amongst my fits of laughter. Tears from laughing too hard were streaming down my face.

 “Hey, knock it off you two!” A shout from the front door, a voice filled with anger and bitterness. It was Dad. “Let your brother finish the raking.” I heard the door slam hard against its frame. Dad seemed to like to signal his anger with us by slamming a door. It unnerved me as a kid, the memory still does.