Packed, ready for the trip. Is this a trip or am I running away? If I am honest, its both. I go outside the apartment gates to wait for my mom. Her little gray Yaris pulls up. I get in and I can feel her worry. In silence she drives me to the airport. I know she wishes she was going too. Secretly, I am glad she isn’t. There is nothing like the burden of a mother’s worry.

At the airport, she stops at the front and gives me a quick hug. I can tell she is fighting back tears. If I am lucky, I will get out of the car, before a tear falls. I am lucky. I get out. I don’t look back. I hear her car pull away from the curb and I sigh.

Inside the airport I am not prepared for how I feel. Every summer since we met, Jason and I have gone on a trip. This year it was supposed to be Hawaii. I had hoped he might ask me to marry him. It hurts. I make my way to the line and wait. I feel a bit shaky and my heart is not keeping proper time. The question that haunts me rises up inside of me…what did I do wrong? In memory, I hear that worn out excuse in Jason’s voice, “Its not you, its me.” As security clears me, the excuse rumbles inside my head. What if its not an excuse, what if its actually true? Jason was not ever an insincere person. I trusted him. Did he suddenly become untrustworthy? Deep down, I don’t think so.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

I have cleared security without being searched. Thank you Jesus. I take a seat and wait to board. I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I get out my phone and play Spider Solitaire. Of course Spider Solitaire can’t hold my attention. My mind is preoccupied with last summer. This time last year Jason I were in this airport waiting to catch our flight to New Orleans. We were doing a crossword puzzle. We were laughing, talking, and guessing each word. I remember Jason asked, “What is a six letter word for singular?” I had answered, “Lonely.” Before Jason, I loved traveling alone. I had not felt lonely then, but I do now.

My flight number is called. I walk to the gate. A head of me is an Asian man, with his long hair pulled back in a pony tail. I’ve always liked long hair on men. Jason’s hair was the first thing I noticed about him. The man with the ponytail walks with a steady determination, like he is propelling himself forward into the plane. Behind him, I feel the same way.