"I did it all. I owned every second that this world could give, I saw so many places, the things that I did, and with every broken bone, I swear, I lived." --"I Lived" by One Republic
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ON MY FINAL DAY, THE REST OF THE FAMILY STAYED HOME. They waved goodbye from me at the porch, and all of them nearly broke my back at how hard they hugged me. Angie had buried her face into my hair and doted at how their house would forever be mine too. Uncle Terrence gave me a firm squeeze and told me that regardless, I was already part of this family. Little Payton snuck something into my backpack hastily and sloppily wrapped in Christmas wrapping, strangely in the shape of a toy My Little Pony, before she kissed me on both cheeks.
Tess was the second hardest to say goodbye to. Her eyes said it all; she wanted to come with me on the ride to the airport, but she also wanted me to be alone with Elliot. Looking at her, almost sixteen years old in a month, she had turned into someone completely different from that girl who shielded her face from me with her phone when I first met her. I hugged her tightly and she was sniffing.
“Stay safe, wherever you go,” she muttered into my shoulder, her grip tightening. “And don’t be afraid anymore, ‘kay?”
“’Kay,” I had said to her, closing my eyes tightly. After Kara had left for LSU and I went to Duke, Tess was as close to being my best friend than anyone else. She was so much like Elliot.
Maybe you could guess the first person that was the hardest to say goodbye to.
I had barely gotten out of the Navigator at the airport if Elliot hadn’t pushed me to open the passenger door. I just couldn't do it. He carried my bags even if I had argued against it, and his hand was wrapped tightly around mine as I walked to the baggage check. This airport was unfamiliar to me, even with all the big daunting signs instructing me where to go. But to Elliot, it was like the blueprint of the place was embedded into his brain because he led me through the airport with ease, never letting go of my hand. I was glad he was here with me.
When I had gotten my suitcase tagged and weighed, I was almost drowning in the amount of sweat my palms carried. It was as if they we were weeping before I could. I was holding my ticket in one hand, and it was already getting damp, the printed ink threatening to become blurry. Saying goodbye to Elliot was impossible, which was why I wouldn’t be doing it. I tried to push away the lingering and pestering thought that I wouldn't see Elliot in person in two years; he'd leave for Denmark at the end of December, and my next volunteer project starts in January. No, I decided I wouldn't say the word 'goodbye' at all.
We were standing at the security gate. My direct flight to Los Angeles, California would be departing in thirty minutes, but they requested passengers to come inside the plane in ten.
Ten minutes with him wasn’t enough.
Elliot was standing stiffly, my sweaty hand encased in his firm, steady one. I was shaking, he was still. I was sweating, he was calm.
“I can’t believe that when I finally get to kiss you whenever I want, I won’t be there to do it,” he forced a nervous laugh, his eyes flitting all over my face. He was nervous, his eyes said it all.
When I didn’t say anything, when I couldn’t say anything, he said, “Are you ready? Your plane’s leaving soon.”
I shook my head slowly, then quickly, feeling the backs of my eyes burning. I so desperately wanted not to act like a sobbing banshee at the airport, but it was less of a success than the Titanic.
“Hey,” he whispered at me. “Hey, hey, hey.”
“What?”
“Don’t cry,” he steadied me, placing both hands on my waist, then moving them to my cheeks. They were shaking a little bit on my skin. He pulled on a smile, and he looked beyond handsome. “I made you cry once, and that in itself was a shite feeling. Seriously. Don’t cry, Vienna Sausage. Not over me.”
“You deserve it,” I smiled.
“No.”
“Yes.”
His grip around me tightened.
“Do well in Denmark, okay?” I told him. My voice started becoming thick and muggy, like I was speaking through fog and molasses.
Elliot sighed in content, bringing me into his chest like he has so many times before. The process was the same; his arms unfolding to let me in, folding in to keep me there, resting his chin on my head to brag about his height over mine, with his fingers brushing on the ends of my hair. But this was different because it’d be our last in a long time.
Four minutes.
“Hey. When you’re riding elephants in Thailand or building a school for penguins in Antarctica, don’t forget the little people over here in little old America, alright? Don’t forget me.” Elliot joked.
I almost scoffed. “I don’t think I could ever forget you if I tried to. And even if I tried, you’d still be the kid who stole my first kiss.”
“Hey, if we’re holding grudges, I’m pretty sure there’s still scars on my nose from when you bashed it into my skull.”
“Alright, alright, truce,” I laughed, pulling away from him. Our smiles faded when we locked eyes with each other. More and more people began passing us and entering into my gate, their eyes grazing over us, some sympathetically and others in indifference.
Our hunger to get away and to travel accidentally brought us together and was purposefully splitting us apart.
Two minutes now.
“I should go, I can’t miss my flight,” I said to him, but my feet were firmly planted on the ground.
“Yeah,” Elliot nodded in agreement.
I imagined him after I left him here in the airport, how lonely he would be when driving the long distance back to the ranch house, how he would look so small when I passed through that security gate without my permanent travel person beside my side.
Instantly, it was like everything was bursting from a dam I tried to build. I tried to restrain all my feelings in hopes that I wouldn’t get any more attached than I already was, but the mission failed. Like a wave crashing against the shore, I crashed against him in a final hug. My muscles ached physically with how tight I clutched him to me, and I felt euphoric with just how much he smelled of fresh, clean cotton clothes, of home, of Elliot James. The intimacy of pain was a real thing that made me realize that missing someone while they were yours was stronger than missing them when they weren't.
His lips were pressing down on mine, kissing me softly before kissing me with finality. It wasn't a slow kiss, and it wasn't a fast one, either. I kissed him like there was a meteor heading to Earth in two seconds. He kissed me like he would die in one second.
Instantly, a saying I heard somewhere popped up in my mind as we continued to kiss. Whoever said that airports see more sincere kisses than wedding halls, was one hundred percent correct. I missed him even if I hadn't lifted a foot off of Texas.
“I love you,” the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could have a chance to think it through, but then I realized I didn’t have to.
He was caught off-guard and stunned, but he tugged one of the corners of his cheeks upwards. “I love you.”
“Wow, Elliot, big words.”
“Not if you mean them.”
“Since when did you get so mushy?” I punched his shoulder softly, slapping away a tear that paved a damp path against my cheek.
Instantly his hand flew to my cheek to wipe the wetness away.
He shook his head, suppressing a grin. When he lifted his head, I knew then that I wasn’t the only one who felt like someone was hacking away at my insides with a chainsaw. “I just want to say right now that it doesn’t matter where you go. I don’t care what continent you’re in or what you’re doing or who you’re with or if I don’t even know where you are. I don’t even care if there’s no phone service or electricity. I’ll write, or send a carrier pigeon or an owl if I have to. No matter what, I’ll always feel this way about you. I love you. Got it?”
I swallowed back the burning sensation in my eyes. I nodded. “I got it.”
I didn’t really plan on Elliot growing on me like he did. It wasn’t pre-written in my destiny, or that cheesy thing that they call fate. I don’t believe in that. I believe in choices. And even if I’d be in a whole different continent that him in two, four, or twenty years, I could say that I chose the person that taught me to look on the brighter side of things; he was the strong, solid one, the brave one, the forgiving one.
I chose the person who taught me how to forgive.
“Elliot?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for taking me home,” I said to him.
As the words left my mouth, his eyes widened as he tried to register what I’d said, and he smiled so hard, he lifted me up off the floor in another tight hug, as if those were words he’d been waiting to hear for a really long time.
“I’d do the whole thing again tomorrow,” he admitted. “Getting arrested and staying in jail included.”
Suddenly I felt him reach behind me and slip something heavy in the pocket of my backpack.
“Don’t open it until you get on the plane, okay?” he told me.
“I won’t.”
He smiled.
Elliot James, I was wrong. I was so completely, utterly, wholeheartedly mistaken. Your smiles are the best things on this planet.
It was time.
I walked towards the security gate, bag in one hand, ticket in the other, as Elliot stood in the backdrop, his silhouette shrinking with every step I took. I raised my hand and waved. He waved back, the words, “I’ll see you soon,” being mouthed from his lips. I knew he’d be there until I left to watch me go safely.
My vision of him was gone when I stepped onto the plane.
As soon as I got to my seat, I reached for the package he had slipped into my bag. It was in the shape of a medium-sized box. A single, half-crushed red Christmas bow was on top of it. I lifted the lid and let out a small gasp.
It was a Polaroid camera. It was identical to the one he had given to me during the road trip, the one that belonged to his sister, the one I was so crushed to have lost when the Range Rover got stolen.
Underneath it, there were already pictures taken. I peered at them closely. There were five in total. I leafed through the images, thinking that Elliot must have taken them. Something caught my eye as I flipped through them, and there were things written on the backs of the photos.
On the photo of the Outer Banks, it said: “where a strange girl asked me to drive her home.”
On a picture of a Tennessee state sign with cornfields in the background: “dear vienna, if you hate corn, i hate corn.”
On a shot of the Arkansas hotel we stayed in: “will you be my zoe to my alfie?”
On the picture he took of me standing on the Grand Canyon cliff with my back to him: “i’m thinking of you. are you thinking of me?”
The last picture was of me. It was the first photo I took with the camera. It was in the Range Rover, and I had held the camera the wrong way and accidentally pressed the button. It was of me, wide-eyed, a deer in the headlights, my hand partially covering my shocked face. I looked terrible with my mouth wide open and my eyes illuminated by the flash.
And yet, Elliot’s handwriting read: “she’s a keeper.”
I closed my eyes.
I knew instantly that Elliot couldn't have taken these pictures while we were on the road trip, simply because I never saw him once with a camera -- besides, where would he have gotten it? He must have gone back to these places. He must have. He must have gone on another trip to take these pictures, to give them to me.
“Yes, Elliot, I am thinking about you.” I whispered, feeling the plane lift off into the sky.
"And I’ll see you soon.”
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END.
(or is it?)