ignoring me, “there’s this homeschooling convention next weekend. She’s working a booth from nine to eleven.”
“Next weekend?”
She nodded. “That’s what I saw somewhere.” I thought about this as she went on to say, “I know you don’t have any money, but I have my dad’s credit card.” She held up the pink leather wallet that also held her driver’s license and phone. “We could put the tickets on that and then—”
“Wait. What?” I interrupted. “ Tickets?”
“Well, I’m going with you,” she said matter-of-factly, lowering her hand.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve always wanted to go to Chicago,” she replied. She picked up a paper towel and wiped her mouth with it.
I looked at her doubtfully.
“I don’t think you should go alone,” she said gently, reaching out and putting her hand on my knee.
“Think I’m going to need moral support if they reject me again?”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I still don’t really even know why you’re going.”
“That makes two of us,” I said.
Our flight was scheduled to leave at eight in the morning, which meant that we had to be at the airport by six. Emily picked me up and we drove to the airport, hardly saying a word to one another for the entire ride.
Once we arrived and went through security, we found ourselves with well over an hour to kill. Emily wanted to know if I wanted any breakfast, but I adamantly shook my head.
“They’ve got those big cinnamon rolls,” she said, pointing down the concourse.
I shook my head again but said, “You go ahead. I’ll watch your bag.
She headed off toward the food vendors and returned a few minutes later with two cinnamon rolls and two coffees.
“Here,” she said. “I got you this just in case you changed your mind.”
By the time they started calling for people to board the plane I still hadn’t changed my mind, so I threw both the coffee and the roll away, apologizing to her more than once.
“It’s okay,” Emily insisted. “Don’t worry about it.”
Once on board, we found our seats and put our carry-on luggage into the overhead bins. Then we sat down and I fastened my seatbelt . . . tight.
Emily looked at me curiously.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded and focused on the seatback in front of me.
“You . . . you have flown before, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
“What does ‘Not exactly’ mean?”
“It means no, I’ve never flown before.”
Her eyes got wider.
“You’ve never flown before?”
“Why don’t you say that a little louder?” I suggested. “I don’t think the pilot heard you.”
“Well, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she assured me.
“Can we please not talk about this?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m just trying to concentrate on not throwing up right now,” I said.
“You’re scared ?”
“I . . . I’m not scared exactly . . .” She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to go on. I finished by explaining, “I just don’t like heights.”
“I hate to break it to you,” she said, “but this is kind of going to involve heights . . .”
“Thank you for pointing that out.”
She smiled and put her hand on top of mine. Then she leaned toward me and kissed me gently on the lips, squeezing my hand. “You’re going to be fine.”
I wasn’t so sure about that so I went back to concentrating on not throwing up. Emily kept her hand on my hand.
An attendant stood up in the front of the plane and began demonstrating what we should do in the event of cabin depressurization, fire, or a water landing.
I had only been worried about crashing, but apparently there were a whole bunch of other things to worry about. Just as I was seriously considering getting off, the plane started moving.
“We’re just getting in line to taxi down the runway,” Emily said.
The attendants walked up and down the aisle, making sure all of us were buckled in properly. Then
“Next weekend?”
She nodded. “That’s what I saw somewhere.” I thought about this as she went on to say, “I know you don’t have any money, but I have my dad’s credit card.” She held up the pink leather wallet that also held her driver’s license and phone. “We could put the tickets on that and then—”
“Wait. What?” I interrupted. “ Tickets?”
“Well, I’m going with you,” she said matter-of-factly, lowering her hand.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve always wanted to go to Chicago,” she replied. She picked up a paper towel and wiped her mouth with it.
I looked at her doubtfully.
“I don’t think you should go alone,” she said gently, reaching out and putting her hand on my knee.
“Think I’m going to need moral support if they reject me again?”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I still don’t really even know why you’re going.”
“That makes two of us,” I said.
Our flight was scheduled to leave at eight in the morning, which meant that we had to be at the airport by six. Emily picked me up and we drove to the airport, hardly saying a word to one another for the entire ride.
Once we arrived and went through security, we found ourselves with well over an hour to kill. Emily wanted to know if I wanted any breakfast, but I adamantly shook my head.
“They’ve got those big cinnamon rolls,” she said, pointing down the concourse.
I shook my head again but said, “You go ahead. I’ll watch your bag.
She headed off toward the food vendors and returned a few minutes later with two cinnamon rolls and two coffees.
“Here,” she said. “I got you this just in case you changed your mind.”
By the time they started calling for people to board the plane I still hadn’t changed my mind, so I threw both the coffee and the roll away, apologizing to her more than once.
“It’s okay,” Emily insisted. “Don’t worry about it.”
Once on board, we found our seats and put our carry-on luggage into the overhead bins. Then we sat down and I fastened my seatbelt . . . tight.
Emily looked at me curiously.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded and focused on the seatback in front of me.
“You . . . you have flown before, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Not exactly.”
“What does ‘Not exactly’ mean?”
“It means no, I’ve never flown before.”
Her eyes got wider.
“You’ve never flown before?”
“Why don’t you say that a little louder?” I suggested. “I don’t think the pilot heard you.”
“Well, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she assured me.
“Can we please not talk about this?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m just trying to concentrate on not throwing up right now,” I said.
“You’re scared ?”
“I . . . I’m not scared exactly . . .” She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to go on. I finished by explaining, “I just don’t like heights.”
“I hate to break it to you,” she said, “but this is kind of going to involve heights . . .”
“Thank you for pointing that out.”
She smiled and put her hand on top of mine. Then she leaned toward me and kissed me gently on the lips, squeezing my hand. “You’re going to be fine.”
I wasn’t so sure about that so I went back to concentrating on not throwing up. Emily kept her hand on my hand.
An attendant stood up in the front of the plane and began demonstrating what we should do in the event of cabin depressurization, fire, or a water landing.
I had only been worried about crashing, but apparently there were a whole bunch of other things to worry about. Just as I was seriously considering getting off, the plane started moving.
“We’re just getting in line to taxi down the runway,” Emily said.
The attendants walked up and down the aisle, making sure all of us were buckled in properly. Then
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