I concentrate on fighting back my tears. I know they are coming. A whole colony of tears lined up one after the other waiting to break the seal and start pouring out. I can’t break the seal, don’t cry, don’t cry. I remind myself to look brave, because if I start to cry, if I break the seal, then everyone in the airport will know that I really don’t want to get on that plane. Everyone will know that I am terrified to leave my family, my friends, my school, my home. If I break the seal, and the colony of tears start pouring out then they will blame my mother for those tears. They will see my suffering and they will blame my mother for creating the suffering, for making me move. I already know they blame my step-dad; it is because of his new job that we are moving, but I don’t want them to blame my mom. Then the guilt will be too much.
The guilt I’m feeling is already unbearable and is causing the colony to grow in numbers and strength. The colony is pushing at the seal harder and harder. I try not to think of the guilt so as to combat the colony. It doesn’t work because all I can think about is the guilt taking over my body, like a balloon getting blown up. A balloon so big that with the next breath it will explode. I know the explosion will break the seal, but I can’t stop thinking about the balloon expanding inside of me.
I look at my family sitting in the square airport chairs, waiting to say good-bye. They joke about how I will move out to California and turn into a beach bum. I am only nine, and have no interest in turning into a bum. I laugh, and feel guilty in doing so because I don’t want them to think I like California. I already hate that state. My loyalty is with Maryland. The state where I was born, where I have lived all my life, where everyone I love lives. I become angry thinking about the land that will replace my home front. California is enemy territory and soon I will be stepping on it. I will not be fooled by the palm trees and tanned bodies. It is only a trick, a malicious device to coax me into liking it there and forgetting about my true home. I will not be fooled.
My sister is laughing at me for looking so pissed off. She clearly doesn’t understand that we are going into battle. Or maybe she does but doesn’t want to alarm the family. She knows. I know she knows. Underneath her snide remarks is fear, terror that she will not make it out alive. I tell myself that I will be prepared. I will not be beat.
I now want to board the plane and get this over with. I can’t fight the tears any longer. I am crying, but quickly wiping so no one will see. Of course everyone sees, but they pretend not to because it will only make it harder for them if they see me crying, which will only make it harder for me.
In my head I am preparing a pre-boarding list consisting of the order in which I will say good-bye. I will first start with my aunts and uncles because it will be the easiest. After them I will move to my grandfather, which will not be hard. I want to save my grandmother for last, but can’t hug her without first hugging him. If I were to hug my grandfather, and then a favorite aunt, then finally my grandmother it would be obvious that I hugged people in an order based on how much I liked them. The people I liked the least being hugged first and the people I liked the most being hugged last. That would be rude, so my grandfather will go after aunts and uncles and before grandma. Done.
The flight attendant announces, “Those who are boarding with a child, and those who need extra time to get seated may now board.”
I get up, and at this point I am sobbing. I quit wiping my eyes entirely because the tears are coming out so quickly I can no longer stop them. I think of the list and walk first to my aunt and uncles. I am numb and not saying anything to them. I want to tell them how much I love them but the tears are coming too fast. I hug each of them, knowing that soon I will have to say goodbye to my grandmother. She is everything to me and it hurts so much to think of being away from her. My grandfather: hug, sobbing, done. I walk to my grandmother and she knows I saved her for last because I love her the most. I love her more than anyone in the world and now I approach her for the last time. The pain is much greater then I imagined it to be. People in the airport are watching the little nine-year-old girl say good-bye to her family. It is a sad scene. My grandma is unable to say anything. I don’t want her to suffer. I wish I could suck out and consume all of her pain because she is old and I am young. This is too much for a grandma to go through. The guilt builds more and more.
I am the child that is flying with my sister, dad, and step-mom. My dad and step-mom are flying out with Gina and me to prolong the good-bye. They think it best if they fly all the way across country to say good-bye. I figure my dad feels that he is way above my grandma on check list. He is in a completely different category then her. He will not only get the last good-bye, but will get the longest goodbye. A six hour goodbye thousands of miles above the patchwork of earth below us.
We board the plane and I sit next to my dad. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to talk about how much he loves me and how much he is going to miss me. The pain is too much. His gray eyes are fighting back tears. I hate that I am causing those tears. My pain turns to anger because my nine-year-old mind can’t understand why he can’t just tell my mom that I can’t move. Shouldn’t he be able to stop this? Now I will be no longer be his. I will be too far away for him to parent me, discipline me, and for him to go to my swim meets. How could my mom be so selfish? Why didn’t my dad fight for me?
I cry myself to sleep on the plane. I am completely drained and feel numb, like a zombie. Our plane lands and we get off. My mom and step-dad are waiting when we arrive. This is awkward being with my dad and step-mom, and mom and step-dad. I thought that my dad would hug me for a long time and then tell me how much he loved me. We would sob together in the airport, holding each other. It was too hard for him. He hugged me quickly, tightly, then pushed me away and told me to “go.” Not like “go on and have fun,” but a stern “go” like “go to your room.” He then turned and he and my step-mom walked away into the crowd.
I watched as he vanished into the other bodies walking through the airport. Gone. I turn to my mom, happy to see her. I am no longer angry because I am too weak to be angry. She hugs me, excited that at last we have arrived. She already looks tanner because she has spent the summer in California while I spent my last summer in Maryland. She is different; the palm trees got to her.
Gina and I get our luggage. My dad had brought his on the plane as a carry on so that he wouldn’t have to run into us at the baggage claim. I just now realize he planned that. We gather our luggage and head out of the airport to get the car. The automatic door opens. My step-dad walks out carrying our luggage followed by Gina. My mom and I walk out together. We are holding hands and she is talking all about our new home, but I am not listening. For some reason I can’t keep my eyes off those darn palm trees.