They called my zone over the intercom ten minutes ago, yet I haven't moved from my seat, staring out the massive window to look at the even bigger plane on the other side. I know they won't wait forever on me. I'm just another passenger in their eyes, not some girl who had her heart broken. But I'm playing with my chances, waiting until the last possible second to board the plane that's meant to take me to back to Portland.
Harry was serious when he said that he'd buy my plane ticket home. It's probably because he knew I wouldn't actually go if he left that part of it open. Out of spite I didn't want to accept it but somehow I ended up here regardless, the last seven hours since he shut the door behind me feeling like a blur.
I called him so many times that it felt like a reversal of when I first left home and my phone was the one overwhelmed with missed calls. I left him message after message, with my back still against the door of what was our hotel room. But eventually his voicemail box was full and enough people had walked past me in the hallway with concerned looks on their faces that I mustered up enough energy to stand up. That, and Harry still hadn't opened the door even though I knew he could hear every word I said to him on the phone on the other side.
The only thing I got from him was a text. A text that did nothing to represent any of the moments we shared in these last month's together. A text that I memorized and don't even need to pull out my phone to repeat it back word for word.
There's a cab downstairs that will take you to the airport. Your flight leaves at 11:40 am. Safe travels.
A link to my confirmation of the flight was attached too, but that was the only other thing. No I love you. No I'm sorry. No I'll never forget this or you... nothing else. Just a simple text that reminded me of his harsh demeanor that I can't shake from my head.
Above this message that gets harder to look at it each time I do, are some that would usually make me smile until my cheeks hurt. And somehow the messages above this one from Harry still manage to get this same reaction out of me as I reread them, despite everything that's happened.
So I let myself read through as I scroll up, my brain feeling fuzzy with the conflicting thoughts the messages cause.
There's a man in the bathroom who's giving himself a pep talk into the mirror about using the urinal. A grown man, I may add.
I haven't decided if he realizes that I'm in here or not. Even though I just washed my hands right next to him.
He's making eye contact.
Men public restrooms are a scary place, Greta. Can you sneak me into yours instead? I promise there will be no funny business.
Turns out the man is nice. Just has some public pee anxiety/isn't aware of people around him.
I had a dream last night. You were in it. I was happy.
I woke up this morning. You were there. I was happy.
You're staring at me like I'm crazy. I'm still happy.
Why did the chicken cross the states (to the Atlantic ocean)?
Because the chicken met a ridiculously handsome boy on the bus and fell madly in love.
P.S. you're the chicken and I'm hilarious.
Hi, I love you. Now stop talking to Laurel on the phone and give me cuddles.
There's countless more above this that I think I'll keep on my phone forever, but I have to stop myself from scrolling up anymore because behind the smile these word are causing, is that feeling that hasn't left since Harry said maybe he doesn't love me. The texts say the exact opposite of this but I'm starting to believe the words that actually came out of his mouth instead.
All remaining passengers boarding our flight to Portland, please report to gate E. The woman on the intercom reads off again, reminding me that I'm on a deadline here, that I can't sit here forever.
The thing is... I'm waiting for a reason. I'm waiting to see if maybe this will change before I walk myself on to that plane to walk back out on the other side of the country, far, far, away from Harry.
I decide to call him again even though I have a feeling the outcome will not have changed since the last time I dialed his number. But maybe this final ring will be the one, maybe I will have pushed it enough that he'll give in and at least answer.
The knots in my stomach grow the longer the phone rings, my hopes of something good start to dwindle away. It feels different than when I was stalling at the bus station when Harry left to go to Las Vegas. It's a similar situation... the two of us departing in different directions and me waiting around as long as I possibly can. I don't think he'll be making a sudden appearance like that time though. I don't think he'll show up last minute with a smile on his face and a quick line that somehow makes up for everything that just happened. I really don't think that and I don't think he'll be answering his phone either.
His voicemail message comes on, his voice feeling like it's stabbing into my chest as I hear it with the phone pressed into my ear. I almost hang up with that, knowing I won't be able to leave a message since I filled up the capacity earlier. But instead I torture myself, listening to his voice that sounds happy and carefree. Not angry and sad like I last experienced.
"Hiiii, it's Harry. Erm, sorry I missed your call. You can leave a message if you'd like. And yes, mom... I'm still alive."
It's simple. There's really nothing special about it, but his voice says everything... there isn't any hurt or pain or frustration in it. It's just Harry. And the last part always makes me laugh because even though he doesn't always see eye to eye with his parents it's obvious how much he still loves them, his mom more in particular. The short line at the end proves this.
I'm expecting for the automated voice to come on next, to tell me that I can't leave a message even if I liked because I already did that too many times. Instead of the automated voice that usually follows Harry's though, there's just a beep, letting me know that I actually can leave something final for him now.
This could mean a couple of different things. Harry's listened to my countless voicemails and deleted at least one of them. Or that maybe he deleted all of them without even pressing play. Or that he deleted an old voicemail that was taking up space from a childhood friend that allowed me just enough space to get something in. Whatever it is, something happened to let me leave this one now.
Only, so far this message has consisted of me breathing heavily into the phone without a single word coming out, my thoughts racing with the possibilities of why I'm able to do this right now.
"Harry," his name comes out with a shaky voice. "Harry... I'm sitting in the airport letting myself think this is like the movies. You know, where just as I'm about to board the plane you'll come running to stop me, and we'll kiss and people will clap and there will be some dramatic song playing in the background."
I stop myself for a second, knowing that if I don't I'll get carried away with these thoughts and it will only become more crushing when I remember it isn't real. I've been living a fantasy world with Harry for too long now.
"But that's not what's going to happen because this is real life," I say with a quieter voice, finally admitting this to myself. "And real life isn't always picture perfect... even if you did a pretty good job of fooling me otherwise for a while there. I guess I did find what I was looking for too. I wanted something meaningful to happen in my life, to stop feeling like I was just floating around without any purpose. It hurts right now, yeah... it's never hurt as much as it does now. But I did it. I ran away from home. I fell in love. I had this huge adventure with so many happy memories and now... now I have to keep moving I guess.
"I didn't want to be the one to say I'm sorry, because I really don't think I'm the one who should be apologizing here," I tell him, deciding I may not have much of a chance at another time. "But I am sorry. I'm sorry for people who don't appreciate you. I'm sorry for whatever I said that was wrong. I'm sorry for loving you... but that's just it, Harry. I do love you. Your lap is supposed to be where I lay my head and I'm the one who is supposed to braid your hair. I guess I just can't accept it when you say that you don't love me. Even if it's true, I just can't do that."
There's another beep on the phone which cuts off my message, no longer allowing me to ramble my thoughts to a Harry that isn't really there. It doesn't feel like I had enough time to say everything that I want to say but at the same time I needed that beep. I needed that reminder again that this is the real world, where you don't have unlimited space to leave messages and planes will only wait so long for you to get to your seat before they leave without you.
I've been cycling through emotions since I picked myself off the floor and managed to get to this seat in the airport. One minute I feel so despairingly sad that I'm positive if someone accidently bumped into me I would just collapse into a ball on the ground and cry. The next I feel so angry that I'm sure if that same scenario happened I'd skip the crying all together and punch them in the face instead, taking out my frustration with Harry on an innocent bystander.
Now though, as I pick up my backpack and trudge my way over to where a woman is checking tickets, I don't feel either of those things. It's a strange mixture of feeling so empty that I have no emotion at all and feeling strangely satisfied that I'm headed to somewhere that's familiar where people I've known my whole life are, satisfied that I still have somewhere to go after all of this.
Before I finish the walk to the entrance of the plane, I stop and stare out the window. On the other side everything looks silent and in slow motion as trucks bring peoples luggage in and out, and people walk around in orange vests. My reflection is what's staring back at me though.
I look tired, utterly exhausted. My hair is a mess, my face is blotchy and cried out, and my stance makes it pretty obvious of how I feel right now. I look different than I remember. Some of this may have to do with the slight distortion of the window since it isn't actually a mirror. But it's a sight that I don't want to stare at for too long because it hurts too much. It's like past the reflection of myself that looks like I'm about to collapse are these visual memories of Harry that keep replaying over and over in my head.
I can see us laughing on the bus as we tell stories about our childhoods, staring out the window and eating snacks from vending machines.
I can see us swimming in that pool late at night with fuzzy minds, him pressing me against the wall and me thinking he's about to lay a big kiss on me.
I can see the countless diners we ate at as we traveled from state to state and Harry's reoccurring order of pancakes with a smiley face on top.
I can see me waking up on the bus with my head in his lap and a confused feeling running through my mind. I can see his hands in my hair and the words he whispered "You can stay, it's okay." I can feel that same heart pound from that moment, when I realized that Harry would be life changing.
It was a bump in the road that changed my life, but it was also Harry too.
This is just another bump, only this time it's figurative and not something caused by a pot hole in the road. This time I don't wake up with my head in Harry's lap or his hands in my hair though. This time my heart isn't beating quickly because of a beautiful boy sitting above me. This time this bump is what turns me around, changes my direction... steers me back home. This time there isn't Harry above me whispering "You can stay, it's okay," because this time he's told me the exact opposite.
I turn from the window before my mind can fall even deeper into nostalgia, fighting myself to get my head out of the past. It takes a deep breath and a pause with my eyes closed for a good thirty seconds, but I manage to get enough strength to finish the walk to the woman taking the tickets. The piece of paper is warm and wrinkly in my hands from me holding onto it so tight. My hand is shaky as I give the ticket to her, not wanting to actually let go of it because then I'd have to keep walking forward.
She gives me a strange look as my fingers get in the way of her being able to properly look at the ticket. I'm stalling even though I'm yelling at myself not to. If Harry hasn't shown up yet, I really doubt he will now.
When the ticket is back in my hand and the woman says "Safe travels" I'm sure for a moment that I'm going to run in the opposite direction, away from the plane that's supposed to take me home. I'm positive I'm about to burst out of this airport, find a cab back to our hotel on the beach and knock down that door Harry shut on me. I'm sure I'm about to force this into a different outcome, to tell Harry I won't leave this easily.
I even turn around... but I don't take a step forward.
My eyes scan the room in front of me. I see people walking with suitcases rolling behind them, the line to get coffee growing and a baby crying while their mom rocks them back and forth to the side of me. But I don't see what I'm looking for. I don't see a curly haired boy running, weaving his way through people with a determined look on his face. Harry isn't coming for me. There won't be an apologetic kiss or people clapping or a dramatic song playing in the background. It doesn't matter how long I stall.
So I turn around again, fake a smile to the woman next to me and walk in the direction of the jetway, holding on to the straps of my backpack that's over my shoulders.
I don't turn around again and instead keep my eyes forward. I can't keep putting this idea in my head that this is going to be different than it already is because I'm just torturing myself, but it's hard. I don't want it to end like this.
One moment I'm alone in the jetway, walking slow and trying to hold myself together and the next I'm in the crowded walkway of the plane, trying to find my seat.
My bag goes in the overhead compartment but my phone stays in my hand, holding onto it just in case something happens before I have to turn it on airplane mode. I have a window seat, so as soon as I plop myself down, outside is where my eyes wander to. It's loud on the plane, there's the commotion of people finding their seats, getting situated, but it sounds like a subdued roar to me so I don't pay much attention to it.
With my intentional block to the noise around me I'm surprised when a voice stands out to me, my stomach dropping more when I realize it's directed at me.
"Looks like you're my neighbor for this flight," the voice says and I've never turned my head so fast in my life. My brain automatically jumps to conclusions that aren't even logical at this point.
This voice belongs to Harry and he bought the both of us tickets all along.
This is just like the bus ride that happened months ago when he showed up at the last second and asked if the seat was taken.
This is Harry. It has to be Harry.
But the voice doesn't sound like his and my eyes confirm this as soon they look up to the person who is talking to me. They smile as they sit down, buckling up as I stare at them, probably looking like I'm about to cry again.
It's a boy who only looks a year or two older than me and while his smile is pleasant and his eyes seem nice, the feeling I get when Harry's the one sitting next to me isn't there. And I'm not in any state to be starting a conversation with a stranger... especially because I'm beginning to realize the mess that got me into the last time I decided it was a good idea.
Harry was a stranger at one point, just like this person sitting next to me is... but he never felt like a stranger, even when I knew nothing about him. I suppose that's what makes this situation different.
Luckily the boy doesn't seem fazed by my lack of response, still smiling to himself as he laces his hands together. I stare at him for a few seconds longer, thinking maybe if I blink enough times he'll somehow turn into Harry instead. When it doesn't work and I get the feeling that the boy may start to question why I'm still staring, I return my eyes to the window of the plane and focus on the movement outside instead.
Announcements play throughout the plane, explaining safety precautions and repeatedly saying things about all seats needing to be in the upright position as I mindlessly listen along.
My phone flips in my hand over and over again, sliding my thumb across the screen. I was telling myself that the last message I left Harry would be me final attempt, but the gut wrenching feeling in my stomach is preventing this thought from being true.
My fingers type quickly, watching the letters form on the screen. Once the text message is out though I have to pause for a second, my thumb holding itself over the send button and my brain trying to decide if it's a good idea or not. Then I press down before I can give it another moment to think over, turning off the screen almost immediately after.
I just want to make sure you're okay... well I know that isn't true. I guess I'm scared to leave you like this. I've never seen you so upset and it doesn't feel right to leave you on your own. I'm worried, Harry.
The message to him repeats in my head even though I try not to think about it.
I feel the plane move a little, watching the view outside stay in place as we back out of the spot the plane had been sitting. I have no choice now. I'm stuck on this plane and I can't turn it around even if I change my mind.
Just as I'm about to turn my phone off, I feel it buzz in my hand, my heart dropping when I see his name. I wasn't hopeful for a response and this one now lighting up my screen is bittersweet considering the circumstances.
I'm not okay... but I also am. Don't worry about me, Greta.
This message still isn't enough to represent any of what this has been, but it still eases my mind a little. Harry isn't okay and neither am I... but I know he responded because he knew I'd drive myself crazy if I didn't at least know that there was some potential for him to be. This response was only meant to bring me a little, very small amount of peace of mind.
So I turn off my phone and close my eyes just as the boy next to me starts to talk again.
"Are you headed home?" the boy asks, obviously not reading into my exhausted appearance. "Or are you visiting?"
"I'm not really sure," I answer truthfully.
I'm going home but it feels like I'm headed the wrong way to get there.
...
Hi, I feel as though I should give a warning that this story is very close to its end. I'd say there's 3-5 chapters left (probably closer to 5, can't say for sure). I know you may be thinking "What!? How could it end when Greta and Harry aren't even with each other" and don't worry the things that need to be resolved will be in whatever way they are meant to.
Also, appreciate Harry today (and everyday) because he is the best human.