Blindness(47)

It’s that last question that’s eating at me most. Here I am, looking at the ring still sitting in the middle of the floor, in the very spot I threw it last night. That ring, that FUCKING ring! Only a few short months ago, I wanted nothing more than to slip Trevor’s ring on my finger. But now it felt like a shackle. And as much as I don’t want to say it’s Cody, so much of it is.

I can’t take it any more. I pick up the ring and slide it into my pocket, zip up my bag, and leave the note on the center of the bed.





Went home.





That’s all I could think to write, and even that felt empty. Home—ha! I don’t even truly have one; the Appleton’s house has never felt like home.

I hail a cab and am off to the airport minutes after locking Trevor’s apartment behind me. I couldn’t even go back if I wanted to now—forcing myself to leave. The trip to the airport goes fast, and the desk girl is accommodating with my situation. Of course, I lie and tell her I need to go home on an earlier flight due to a death in the family.

My fingernails are almost down to the sensitive part of the skin, yet I bite them more. I keep looking down the walkway to all the gates, half expecting Trevor to come running up, to try to stop me. I wonder if he’s even made it home yet? He’s not expecting me to leave for a few more hours, but I’m curious just how far he’ll push things.

They call my flight to board, and I feel the strangest sensation wash over me—it’s not panic, but rather exactly the opposite. It’s more than calm. It’s decision. And I feel a sense of pride that I stood up—for once in my life—and did something.

Wanting to get home quickly, I take a seat at the front of the plane so I can exit first. The little girl next to me is flying alone, and she looks nervous about it.

“Hey, I’m Charlie. What’s your name?” I ask. She looks up from her backpack, which she is clutching to her chest. She reaches her hand out hesitantly to grab mine.

“I’m Sophie. Nice to meet you,” she says, her words quiet and the most rehearsed form of polite. She must be going through finishing school. I look down and notice her shiny buckle shoes, which she’s kicking back-and-forth with nerves.

“So, Sophie. Is this your first time on an airplane?” I ask, trying to get her mind off of all the preparation happening around her. The attendant comes by to check on her and nods at me with a smile, thankful that I’ve taken this one on, I think. Sophie finally nods yes to me and gives her bag a tighter squeeze.

“Okay, well, I have good news for you. I’ve been on, like, a hundred flights,” I say. Truth be told, I’ve been on maybe a dozen flights, but in Sophie’s world, that might as well be a thousand. “That’s why I get to sit next to you. I get to be your buddy, just for the flight. How does that sound?”

Sophie nods with a faint smile, and I can see her grip loosen on her bag, just a little. I nod at it and ask her what’s inside. She zips it open a little and pulls out a panda bear and a big coloring book with a box of crayons. I pull them into my lap quickly.

“This is perfect,” I say, trying to stave off the worry I see in her face that I’m going to take her bear away. “Let’s keep these out and tuck your bag right here, under this seat.”

Sophie lets me store her bag and reaches for her bear. I help her make a pretend buckle out of the extra strap leftover from her own, and we tuck her book and crayons in the seat flap in front of us.

I keep talking to Sophie through the entire takeoff process, and when I’m pretty sure she’s become comfortable in the air, I pull out her coloring book and help her set it up to color on the tray.

“So how old are you, anyways?” I say, joining in on her urging to color the grass green on her farm picture.

“I’m seven,” she says, reaching into the box to pull out a purple, which she uses on the sky. I don’t know why, but her gesture makes me smile.

“That’s pretty,” I say. She stops and looks up at me, smiling back.

“Thanks. That’s what color the sky is back home,” she says. I sit back to think about it, and she’s sort of right. When the sun is setting, and there are clouds in the sky, everything is rather purple. It was always purple in Louisville, and for that small moment, I miss home—my real home. I smirk and lean forward to keep coloring, but as I do, the ring falls from my pocket and drops to the floor. I pick it up quickly, and I’m instantly sad that I almost lost it.

“Oooooooh, that’s pretty,” Sophie says, leaning over the armrest, her elbow propped on my knee. I chuckle to myself at how far Sophie’s come from the closed-off, terrified girl that I met less than 30 minutes ago. God, what I wouldn’t give to have half the personal growth she’s shown.

“Thanks,” I say, holding the ring between two fingers for her to take. She looks at me with wide eyes, afraid at first, but her fear wears away quickly, and soon she’s pushing the ring down her tiny finger. It’s big enough for three of her fingers, but she finds the right one and slides it down and holds it up to her face.

“So, who are you married to?” she asks, halting me. That word—married—feels so meaningless. I don’t even know how to answer her. I don’t even know how to answer my own questions.

“I’m not married to anyone, yet,” I say, probably being more honest than I need to be with a second-grader. I’m struck at the irony of the fact that somehow, during this hour-plus flight, a seven-year-old has climbed my social ladder and become my best friend.