The Swailing

Maine: Knitting

My dad buys a ticket on a private flight back to Optima. While we were traveling, Finn told me that there were once huge commercial jets that flew all over the country, taking off and landing every few seconds from airports in every major city. But when the federal government collapsed there was no longer an agency to monitor the industry. Today you can still fly, but all flights are arranged privately between two regions. They have to be plotted and registered days in advance to ensure the air space doesn't get too crowded. My dad flew here, but he still seems terrified as he prepares to go. I'm sure flying feels incredibly scary to him, and he earns a little more respect from me for actually doing it. As adventurous as I like to think I am, I'm not sure how I'd feel about climbing onto an airplane.

The plan is for me to stay here with Camden and my mom until the end of the school year. For once I'm actually excited to go to school, to see what they teach here compared to what they teach in Optima. During that time, my dad will try to arrange for a visa for Camden and I to come visit after we graduate. Because I ran away before I was 18, he's hopeful that getting me back into Optima will not be impossible, especially if he lays the groundwork when he goes back. He's also done some research and discovered that if they provide genetic proof that Camden is my dad's child, along with extensive vaccination records, he can get a temporary visa to visit as well. We'll both have to spend some time in quarantine, but if all goes as planned, we'll get to be with my dad before Camden goes off to university. I have no idea what lies ahead for me, now. Back in Optima I had planned to go to school for exercise physiology but that no longer seems remotely interesting. Maybe I'll travel. Maybe I'll study history. Maybe I'll see Finn again.

I hope I'll see Finn again.

I write a messy letter to Logan, probably the first letter I've ever written by hand. I don't know why I feel the need to do it this way. Maybe because officially breaking up with someone should require some ... what was the word Finn used? Penance. I shouldn't be able to dictate a ping or type up a quick message and have my conscience clean in seconds. If I can't end the relationship in person then I should at least be required to agonize over my horrible handwriting, getting the words right on delicate old fashioned paper. Breaking up should require some sort of sacrifice, even if Logan expects it and wants it as much as I do.

My dad will deliver it to him for me. Finn once told me that, just like the airlines, there used to be a division of the government that handled sending written correspondence all over the country. But when the internet age began, paper mail started to trickle off. And then when the federal government folded, mail became a thing of the past. Maybe Logan will get a kick out of this old-fashioned letter from me, knowing how writing is so foreign to us, how paper itself is a novelty.

My dad tells me that he only saw Logan once before he left Optima. My dad had sent a ping, asking if I was with Logan, when he woke up and found my bed empty. It's not often a father wishes for his teenage daughter to have spent the night with her boyfriend, but my dad said he was hoping I had. Obviously I hadn't. Then Logan had gotten a message from the border patrol about his abandoned car and my dad drove him to Barstow to reclaim it. On the way, Logan was quiet and my dad couldn't tell if he was worried or angry. I prefer to think he was angry. Makes this whole thing a bit easier to swallow.

When my dad is ready to leave, he hugs Camden like he doesn't want to let go, and I realize how hard this probably is on him. I'm sure he feels like he's losing his family all over again – even me, this time. When he hugs me, I whisper to him, "I love you, dad."

"I love you, too."

"We'll see you in a few months."

He nods, his lips pressed tightly together. I'm not sure he believes me and his uncertainty makes me cry.