Calvin couldn’t remember a more uncomfortable flight. His exhaustion felt like it was pressing down on the top of his skull, pushing him deeper into the small chasm between his fellow passengers. Yet sleep remained elusive. There were a few moments, where he suspected he had fallen asleep, but woke moments later, seeing that barely five minutes had passed.

Something stopped him from entering sleep. As he tried to probe the darkness of his own mind, hoping to find something to distract himself from his discomfort, he felt as if he were stumbling through a dark forest. Every time he began to find his way out, his hand brushed against something cold and sharp. Like there was barbed wire covering every avenue of escape.

The plane was too warm, and the pathetic jet of air blowing on Calvin’s face was only exacerbating his throbbing headache. When the flight attendant asked if he would like anything to drink, he faltered. He had made a promise to himself that he needed to cut back, but as his neighbor to the left collapsed onto his shoulder, a single line of drool escaping his lips, Calvin nodded and asked for a bourbon with some ice.

After the flight attendant had made it further down the aisle, Calvin took a sip of his drink, and pushed the overbearing neighbor back into his seat. The man’s head lolled over toward the window, making an audible sound when he smacked against it. Calvin hoped that he would wake up with a bad bruise.

The bourbon did help. After what felt like an eternity, the plane landed, and Calvin was able to get off of the suffocating coffin. He had arrived fourteen hours later than he had hoped, and he felt like he was walking in a dream as he made his way toward baggage claim.

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Of course, there had been a mix up with his bag, and the airline wasn’t quite sure where it had gone. He was given a half-hearted apology, and left a contact number for the airline. After that, he stumbled out into the chilly autumn air. A slow rain was falling, only visible in the lights high up above the sidewalk. He held his hand up, the rain falling so softly that he could hardly feel the gentle pinpricks of each drop.

It was now that he felt his mind begin to slip forward in time. He didn’t remember hailing a cab, yet found himself in one a moment later. They were moving, heading for the highway, and Calvin couldn’t quite remember where he had told the driver to take him. His phone buzzed, and he looked down at a familiar text message. One he got every year on this night.

It was his cousin, Tom, who always tried to get him to go out for a drink the night before Thanksgiving. The two of them had never been particularly close, and Calvin suspected that the motivation was brought on by his aunt and uncle pressuring Tom to make an effort.

The two of them had grown up in close proximity to each other, and though Calvin never spent much time analyzing it, Tom was the closest thing he had to a brother. When the text popped up this time, he was ready to politely decline like he did every year.

Something was different this time, but Calvin couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe the many drinks he had already had, maybe his exhaustion reached the point where he simply gave up on sleep. It was a moment Calvin would think back on as being so spontaneous, it hardly felt like it was his decision at all.