I tapped the tickets on my knee as I watched people walk left and right, dragging their carry-ons behind them. I spotted a little girl with strawberry blonde pigtails, carrying a Hannah Montana backpack, her hand clasped tightly around her mother’s. She trotted toward the other gate. A large group of people, wearing Hawaii shirts walked out from one gate, laughing and talking to each other as if they’ve been spending a while with one another. I was amused seeing the seashells, the beads, and the leis taking up the majority of their neck. Clearly they had just came back from their vacation to Hawaii.I was the opposite. I was heading out of the city, to France. Paris to be exact. It has been my dream to go there after I graduate from high school, so after months of begging and saving, I managed to convince my parents that I can go alone. Well, not really alone. My best friend was coming with me. One, because she was the only one felt motivated enough to take a trip with me across the Atlantic and two, she wanted to see how sharp her French is. And trust me, it wasn’t too sharp since she had learned it off of watching Hollywood movies with French subtitles.
She had been complaining ever since we made it through the check in counter about how our seats were different even though we went to the same travel agent. She then proceeded to complain about security measures and how lame it was that they made her take off her shoes. She told me to remind her to wear flip flops next time. She was now in the gift shop across the walkway, looking or rather scrutinizing at the souvenirs while I sat here watching our carry-ons.
She came back later and plopped down next to me.
“You should’ve seen the prices they’ve got in there,” she said quickly. “I was like, Jesus, you can get that for a tenth of that price outside.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s how they make money off of travelers at the airports.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s America for you.”
Finally, the attendant’s perky voice rang overhead, calling everyone to prepare their boarding passes. My friend and I stood up and grabbed out bags. We looked around to see if we had forgot anything before lining up at the boarding gate.
“I’m so excited,” my friend said happily. “I’m going to take a million of pictures and then put it on Facebook.”
“That’s the idea,” I said. “Too bad the others didn’t want to go.”
She made a rude noise. “Well, they can put their sorrows on staying at home and missing out on the food, the sights, the pretty people.” I laughed lightly.
“Pretty boys, you mean,” I said.
“They’re people too,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.
I handed my boarding pass to the woman. She slipped it into the machine and handed me the pass back. I went through the compartment that connected the gate to the plane. My friend caught up with me.
“Feels great to walk in a box,” she said dryly.
“Better than trekking across the bloody pavement. It’s our chance to see New York though.”
She snorted. “You mean the interior of the airport.”
“Let’s overlook that fact.”
We entered the plane and I said my goodbyes to my friend as she found her seat and I went further down the plane to find mine. 32 B.
I found my seat and was happy to see that no one was there yet. I stuffed my large suitcase up to the overhead compartment and slipped into the window seat. I stared out of the window and was reminded of the last time I was on a plane: about several years ago and I was going on a very boring vacation while trying to finish my summer assignment for History class.
I pulled out my cell phone and turned it off as I saw the woman on the other side of the aisle doing the same. People shuffled past me and there were loud noises as they chattered and stuffed their carry-ons in the overhead compartment. I pulled out my I-pod and stuffed the earbuds in my ear before I buckled the belt on the seat.
I heard a shuffling next to me and saw that the person sitting in 32A was there, stuffing his case in the compartment. He then took his seat. He caught me staring and gave me a smile. I returned it.
He looked like he was a few years older than me from his height and build. But then again, everyone could be older than me if I used height and build to speculate age.
I stared out the window again and music was blasting in my ear. I vaguely heard the captain’s voice through the intercom, saying that the plane was ready to take off, and everyone should take their seatbelts.
I felt the plane vibrate as I watched it move out of the terminal. I love the feeling of the plane moving and most of all is when it gets ready to go up into the sky--when it speeds up on the runway and it pushes you back into your seat. Gods, if my friend was here, she would tell me about the possibility of the plane skidding off the runway.
I was jerked back as the plane sped up and I felt the nose head up into the air. I looked out the window and stared a the scenery below me. The large airport turned into a little building, the highways turned into strips of pavement, and houses turned into dots on a quilt of colors. Soon, I could probably see the whole city in one view. The plane flew over the hills and the city disappeared as the rolling hills replaced it. Then everything became dimmer and the wispy clouds fogged my view of everything.
I leaned back in my chair and stared ahead. My eyes drifted over to the pocket in front of me. I wonder if they have Vogue or at least Vanity Fair. I peeked into the pocket and pulled out several magazines. Well, they weren’t Vogue, but they would suffice. I flipped through the pages and read an article about some guy who traveled to Japan to visit Kami sites.
When I finished the article, I felt more bored. I put the magazine away and glanced at the guy besides me; he was reading some magazine as well. I stifled a grin as I saw him wrinkling his nose and put the magazine back into the pocket.
He caught me looking again. “There’s nothing to do,” he said.
I nodded. “I would play games on this thing,” I said tapping my I-pod, “but I don’t think the batteries would last.”
“I wish I brought my Nintendo DS.” He leaned back on his seat and turned to me once again. “Where are you heading?”
“Paris,” I said. Huh, I wonder if I should’ve said that. What if he’s a stalker. Well, he didn’t look like a stalker, but I know my fair share of crimes. Not that I had committed any, honest.
“I would like to go to Paris,” he commented. “I hear it’s nice in the summer.”
“I hope so,” I said. “What about you?”
“New York.”
I straightened up. “Sounds fun. I always wanted to go to New York, mostly for the city-life. Is this for a trip or for family?”
“I’m getting off in New York and then changing flights to go to Germany. But I think I get a day or two to go around the city.”
“Germany’s pretty nice,” I said.
“The army base in Germany.”
“You’re in the Army?” I asked, slightly surprised. He nodded firmly, his eyes cast upwards. I wondered if I should venture more. However, my mouth seemed to be on its own. “Are you going to Iraq?”
“Afghanistan,” he said, though a bit wearily.
“Well…I never really got any chances to say this to a person in the Army,” I said slowly and carefully. “But…thank you.”
He looked at me. It was the first time I noticed that his eyes were a beautiful blue--dark and intense. Oh, crap, I hope he wasn’t one of those sadistic guys who hated what he was doing, but is doing so because he thinks he has nothing else to do.
“I don’t think what I choose to do needs a thank,” he said slowly. “If not for others sake, then it’s for mine.”
Okay, he wasn’t the pessimistic type. But definitely philosophical. Two can play at that game.
“But it’s worth more if you know that there are people out there who cares about what you’re doing.”
He gave a pensive look and said, “But if you really want to do something and no one cares, would you still go through with it?”
So he got me right there. But, I will not give up--whatever I was doing. “You would, but the feeling of having an effect, of helping out--it’s a great feeling.” I paused. “So why did you join the Army?”
“I wanted to,” he replied, looking away. “I didn’t really want to do anything else, so I enlisted after high school. I was always afraid they might ship me overseas then, but they didn’t. So I let my guard down and here I am, preparing to go overseas. What’re you doing after the trip of France?”
“Going to college,” I said. “Spend about four years living off of Ramen and coffee and spend another four years in the study to become a nocturnal.”
“So you just graduated this summer?” I nodded. “You look younger.”
I smiled, feeling a blush creeping up my cheeks and that rarely happens. “Yes, well…I’m Asian. We age gracefully.”
He laughed. He has a very nice baritone laugh that matches his voice. His blue eyes danced even when his laughter ceased.
“I’m sure,” he said with a certain dryness to his voice.
“I detect a hint of sarcasm,” I said.
We were quiet for a while, since I didn’t know what to say afterwards. The flight attendant came by with the cart to ask us what we wanted to drink. I got myself a cup of Sprite and he got himself some ginger ale. The flight attendant also gave us each a pack of Lays.
“So what school are you going to?” he asked, after taking a drink of the ginger ale.
“San Diego,” I said.
“UC?”
I shook my head. “University,” I said. “Have you ever been to San Diego?”
He nodded. “For several days. The Naval base is there, you know.”
“Yeah,” I said. “So I heard that there are different things you do in the army, what do you do?”
“Weapons specialist,” he said. “I’m the guy that has more weapons stored in my head than words and can take apart one as easily as putting it together.” I could tell he was proud of what he could do.
I laughed. “Really?” He nodded. “Wow. I can take my calculator apart in ten seconds and put it together in five.”
“You’re joking.”
“Five days. Give or take how long the Geek Squad guys can help me out.”
He smiled, shaking his head. Silence set in again. I finished my Sprite and stared outside again. We were flying so high that I could only see bright blue in all directions. I sighed and turned my head away.
“Are you afraid?” I blurted out.
He looked at me again. Oh, those amazing blue eyes. My friend would squeal.--hell, I need to control myself or I would squeal. He seemed to be contemplating my question for a moment.
“Would you like the macho male answer or the truth?”
“I would prefer the truth,” I said, smiling.
“I’m scared shit.”
The lady in the front of us turned around and glared at him and I tried to hold in my laughter. He made no indication that he saw her and continued, “Anyone who says no, is a liar. Either that or an idiot. I mean, you’re going into a place that is known for violence and when you walk outside of your site, you need to carry like a ten pound arsenal to make sure that you can shoot your enemy’s brains out before he does to you. Yeah, I’ll admit it--I’m terrified. But I knew what I was getting into when I enlisted.”
I sat there, surprised and amazed at his answer. I hadn’t expected it to be that blunt and honest, but it came out that way. He was truly different than most of the people that I’ve talked to in my life. What was I suppose to say now? I think you’ll be fine? That’s just overrated.
“You make a great role model, you know that?” I said finally. “That was impressive. Honest and to the point.”
He smiled. “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t say the other shit, right?” I nodded, laughing. “What about you?” I raised an eyebrow questioning what he meant. “I mean of college,” he said.
I frowned. “Sometimes I am afraid, but other times, I love the idea. What I’m more afraid of is the future. I know what I want, but I don’t know if I can make it.” I smiled to myself. “But I’ve always been taught that if you work hard and keep hope and faith, you’ll fare out okay in the end--whatever comes, comes.”
“Okay?” he echoed, skeptically.
“That’s why the future is so fearful yet so loved by people. It’s unknown. So many variables can come between now and then that can change everything. Of mysteries, I think the mystery of the future is the best. You always have a mystery and you’ll always get your answer--although sometimes, it’s not the answer you expect.”
He observed me carefully and nodded. “I like that answer.”
I grinned. “Music?” I asked, offering an earbud.
“Don’t mind if I do.” He took the bud and put it into his ear.
It was quiet, except for the songs that played through my ear. I doze to sleep afterwards, wondering when in the world the plane would land.
I felt myself being shaken up. I blinked several times before opening my eyes.
“We’re landing at JFK,” he said. I thanked him and peered out the window. I could see the ant like city below me, the clusters of skyscrapers, the clumped dots, and the blue of the ocean--New York City. My eyes lit up as I gazed over the city scenery and took in every single detail. The plane flew over the skyscrapers and toward a vast field.
Within minutes, I felt the plane bump and found that we were back on the ground. I waited patiently for the plane to come to a halt at the terminal before standing up, along with everyone else.
He stood up and took the luggage out of the overhead compartment.
“Only one bag?” He asked me. “You sure you’re a girl?”
I rolled my eyes as he handed me my bag. “I’ll come back with more bags from Paris.” We let some people walk past us before moving along the shifting line.
I walked next to him through the box thing and noticed that I only came up to his shoulder. Walking next to him clearly made me feel oh-so short. We walked out as the attendant waved to us and wished us a good day.
I pulled out my ticket to check where I was going. I looked around to find a sign. I found it overhead.
“Well, I have to go,” I said, looking down toward my right, to what look like a long walk.
“Okay,” he said. “I have to be off as well so I’m not late.”
“Bye,” I said.
“Bye.” He turned to leave, but I suddenly realized something.
“Wait,” I called out. “I’ve been talking to you and I don’t even know your name.”
He turned back and smiled sadly. “You don’t want to know my name.”
“Why?” I asked slightly affronted.
“Because I don’t want you to become sad because you hear it on the news. It’s better if you don’t know.” I felt my mouth go dry. He smiled, but his eyes told me that he was far from being happy. “Bye.” He turned and walked away.
I couldn’t even bring my voice to call out after him, to bug him about it, or just to say bye to him. I stood there, staring after him, until he turned the corner and disappeared.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and jumped. My friend was staring at me curiously.
“What’re you looking at?” she asked.
“Er--no one,” I said. “I was wondering where you went.”
She sighed. “I had to go to the bathroom. Stupid Coca Cola and a weak bladder.”
“Come on, let’s go.”
We walked down the walkway. One more plane ride to Paris.
July 24, 08
Dear 32A,
I’ve decided to call you 32A--if you’ve forgotten, that was the seat you sat in on that plane ride from California to New York.
I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I feel as if I should write you a letter, even if I don’t know your name and will never send the letter. I’m in Paris right now. You’re right. It is nice here in the summer. I spent half the week going around to the historic sites. The Louvre is amazing. Never will I degrade art again. Seeing the Eiffel Tower is like seeing the Statue of Liberty (and yes, I went to see the French one too). It was a symbol of France and it took my breath away. I past the Arc de Triomphe along the Champs-Ellysee. Somehow, I thought about you since it was a symbol for all those soldiers who we didn’t know the names to. I tried getting a tour of Versailles, but the tickets were bloody expensive and I wanted to waste money on accessories (I’m a girl, remember?)
The food in Paris is exquisite. I have never eaten so little of a serving and feel so good. I even managed to taste the hundreds of cheeses in the deli--I think I gained about three pounds from it. No, I will not try escargot and will never try it. The idea of eating garden snails scares the heck out of me. So as you can tell, I’m having fun in Paris. How are you doing? I heard that the summers there are around 115 degree Fahrenheit. Drink plenty of water and get shade or else you’ll become an oven roast primate.
I’m heading back to California in a few days and preparing myself to go to the university. And guess what. I’m scared shit. I don’t know what to expect and I don’t know what would happen. But when I thought about that talk with you, I feel as if I can go through anything. Thank you. I will never know when it will be enough.
Sincerely,
32B
November 17, 08
Dear 32A,
College is like high school all over again with the exception of living at the school and the heavy doses of work. But, there were events to take away the high school feeling to it. Everything is going well here at the university. We just had our Fall Festival and it was quite interesting. We had pumpkins, hayrides, and our RA dressed up as a scarecrow. I don‘t know why since she dressed up as a scarecrow for Halloween. And I might have been exaggerating about the Ramen and coffee, but it was close enough. My roommate (who is also my best friend) and I bought stacks of food and kept it in our closet. It’s our stash, in a way to say. There’s also the endless amount of yogurt in our mini fridge.
I hope you’re doing okay there. Every time I hear the news about something happening overseas, I couldn’t help but wonder where you are. Every time a name comes up as MIA or deceased or injured, I pray to Buddha/Jesus/Allah/every single deity, that it’s not you. But I know you’ll be okay. You’re that type of strong person. At least I tell myself you are.
Thanksgiving is coming up and I wish you a good Thanksgiving with your buddies over there. I’ll be going back home to spend it with my family. It’s been August since I saw them, so this would be good. This is where I wish I knew your name so I can wish your family a Thanksgiving as well.
Sincerely,
32B
December 15, 08
Dear 32A,
Merry Christmas!
Finally finals are over and I heading home for Christmas to relax. I wonder, do you come home this Christmas? If not, then I wish you a wonderful Christmas, full of laughter and warmth. If so, then I wish you the same with your family and friends.
My friend was getting curious to whom I have been writing letters to. I told her it was just notes. I mean, how do I tell her that I was writing something to a person I met on a plane to New York, whose name I don’t know, and where to postmark it, I have no idea. She might understand, but she’ll probably call me crazy. I might be. Of course I’ve been questioning my sanity lately, but I think it’s mainly because of the finals. Now I’m back to normal again; at least more normal than those finals week.
I don’t know how I did in my general bio exam. There was a question that asked me to figure out the evolution of a certain specie of dinosaur. I had no idea what I was doing. The easiest exam was my world history one, where the questions were multiple choice and matching, with one large essay. I wrote down everything I could think about the fall of the Roman Empire. I think next semester would be better as I become more acquainted with the college life and study management.
I have to go now. If we’re going to make through the storm to go back before Christmas Eve.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Truly,
32B
March 07, 10
Dear 32A,
I met this guy and we’ve been together for a few months. I met him in Macroeconomics class and we hit it off. Actually, we hit it off by playing tic-tac-toe through lectures and doodle on each other‘s notebooks. The class was a real bore. I don’t pay that much attention because we have to attend for participation points, but all of the notes and lectures are found online. He calls himself highly liberal and tends to go to every single protest he could find, which I sometimes don‘t consider it to be a attribute of how liberal one is . He’s slightly egoistic, but he’s very nice. However, he’s a avid protester. And somehow, I can’t possibly get over that fact. He and his group of friends had tied themselves to a tree at the city historical park so the city wouldn’t cut it down. It was rather silly since the tree was old and rotting. I heard that it wasn’t even a historical tree, although to them everything is historical. I find it annoying and amusing at the same time…more of the former though. He once got extremely angry at me for eating KFC and began ranting on the “foul” treatments of the chickens. I had to laugh because he said ‘foul” in a sentence that contained the word “chicken”. He was not happy. He made me promise never to eat at KFC again and I agreed to it. KFC isn’t all that good/healthy anyways. I’ll stick to my In-N-Out burger. Thank goodness I don’t shop at Wal-Mart or else he’ll give me a lecture on their poor customer service, poor employee care, and how they had wreck the economy by outsourcing. I don’t know how and why I tolerate him, but it’s always fun to sit with him in another economics class (this time micro). My friend said that he’ll grow out of it, but I highly doubt it. I won’t be surprise if he’ll end up chaining himself to a bulldozer when he graduates.
What about you? How is everything?
Truly,
32B
May 29, 12
Dear 32A,
I’m graduating in two weeks. Also, I managed to get accepted into med school in Washington (state). You can’t imagine how happy I am right now. After four years, I could finally breathe and then suck my breath up again for another four heading my way. I wish you could be here for my graduation. I don’t know if you’re back in the states or not since I’ve heard people say that some only serve for six months to a year. Is that true? I don’t know why it took me four years to notice this.
Well…if you must know, I’ve found a way to keep track to see if you’re an MIA or anything. I look at the pictures. Thankfully, none of them are you--unless you’ve changed dramatically. But, nevertheless, even if you didn’t give me your name, fearing that I might worry, I still worry. I worry because then I don’t know. Not knowing is the greatest fear that I have. Even if it has been four years, In continue to pray.
I’m going to England this summer, and no it’s not for the summer Olympics. Although I think this would be a very unpleasant summer to find some relaxation in London so I’ve decided to just get to London, stay for a few days, wander around and visit all the tourist sites, and then head north for Scotland. I always admired the green beauty of Scotland…and maybe if I have time, I’ll fly (or take a boat) over to Ireland. Who knows, I might even find myself a leprechaun to show me a pot of gold--I’m going to need it to pay for college.
Truly,
32B
June 07, 16
Dear 32A,
I made it. I’m done. All eight years of blood and sweat and now, I’m actually done. Well, there’s also residency, but let’s leave that aside. I walked across the stage this afternoon, feeling proud--my parents’ faces, my friends’ laughter, my professors’ congratulations. But, I scanned the sea of faces for yours, nonetheless. I knew it was pointless, but I hoped…Just like I kept my faith and my hopes to get me this far, to get me to my goal. The stars are so bright tonight. It is really difficult to see so many stars in Seattle because there would always be an overcast or rain. But tonight is definitely beautiful. I wonder, when I stare up at the stars, do you see the same stars I do when it’s nighttime? Do you wish on the same stars? Do you put your hopes in the same stars?
Truly
32B
July 04, 17
Dear 32A,
Happy July 4th. You’re the person I remember on this day.
Everyone’s been asking me to why I never go anywhere far with anyone. My friends are all attached and they have someone, but me. My parents wonder if I might have problems. Funny, huh? Seeing how for the first twenty something years of my life, my mother told me to stay away from boys. Now, she’s complaining that I don’t bring home any to introduce to her. Parents are so hard to please.
Maybe this sounds strange and rather cheesy, but I do believe I fell in love.
I fell deeply in love with the boy that I met that summer of ‘08 on the plane to New York. He sat next to me and talked to me. I fell in love with him when he looked at me through his unforgettable blue eyes--the eyes that still haunt me at night. I didn’t realize it then because I was young. I never loved before. How should I know? Now…in my prime years, I know. I am in love. In love with a boy who didn’t leave me a name. With a boy, who might not be walking the earth anymore or might even have a family of his own, and it hurts me terribly to think that. Silly, right? Maybe I am silly…which is why I’m going to move on. He didn’t give his name for a reason. And I believe eight years of hoping and hesitation is long enough for me to understand and move on. The fates have brought us together that day, when you were 32A and I was 32B, but our destinies are not entwined.
Love,
Grace
July 07, 17
“Tell me again why we’re going to a bar?” I asked, as I walked across the parking lot with my group of friends.
My partner in crime through the years of college rolled her eyes. “God. They come all the way from home to live the night life here in Seattle and you’re condemning them to sitting at home and chugging popcorn?”
“I prefer cool tequila,” said my rosy-face friend.
I let out a sigh and opened the door. We stepped into the dimly lit, cool bar.
“Why are you so against the idea?” asked bubbly friend.
“Because the last time she was here, she was so drunk I had to call a friend to help her home,” said my partner in crime, now proclaimed enemy. I glared at her. She had swore not to tell anyone about that moment in time.
We went to the back and sat down. I caught the attention of a person and ordered up some drinks.
“So, you’re the only one out of all of us that isn’t attached,” my bubbly friend said pointedly.
“And?” I asked, not really caring for the answer.
“Well, you’ve got to find someone. I didn’t think that animal rights activist hurt you that bad.”
My college buddy snorted. “He nearly murdered her for eating KFC--which I might add is quite delicious if you eat it in front of a PETA member.”
“Get a new one,” said my rosy-face friend. “There’s plenty of fine fishes here.”
“I’m fine,” I said, diverting my eyes away from them. They went on to a different topic as I took a drink from my glass. Happy hour came and it was more crowded and louder. I ordered some food to eat and sat there, listening to my bubbly friend sketch up her wedding plans, while we teasingly shoot down her ideas to make her angry.
He placed the glass of scotch back down on the counter, empty. His friend next to him stared sympathetically, but ordered up another shot.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” his friend began, “is your liver failing yet?”
“Shut up,” he muttered before emptying the contents down his throat. It burned, but it was the best way he could forget.
“I don’t understand how you can spend years overseas and not remember her, but now you do?”
“Who said I didn’t?” he asked, holding up his empty glass for the bartender to pour more. “I just never made any signs of it.”
His friend sighed. “Well…it’s like ten years ago--”
“Nine.”
“Whatever. You should really move on. What’s wrong with that one chick you were dating a few weeks ago?”
He flinched. “Don’t like her.”
His friend lifted his own glass up to his lips and said, “That’s what you said with the other fifty,” before taking a long drink.
“It wasn’t fifty.”
“Fine…forty-nine?”
“I don’t know. They’re not her. I know they’re not.”
His friend sighed loudly. “At least we know she’s a brunette since that was definitely your priorities. You tend to date them longer than the others.”
“And Asian.”
“They weren’t all Asian.”
He frowned and looked at his friend, blinking several times before replying, “Oh. Maybe they looked Asian.”
“Christ, why don’t you just hook up with some girl already. There’s plenty of short, Asians around, you know. Seattle‘s full of them.”
“It’s not her.”
“This is a country of 300 million, where are you going to find her? And I doubt she remembers you.”
“I doubt that too,” he admitted after some silence. “But I just want to see her again. To see what became of her. If she got her dreams--if she’s…”
“Married?” his friend supplied.
“Thanks, Sherlock.”
He picked up his glass and put it to his lips. However, his arm froze with the glass merely centimeters away from his lips. He stared past the crowd. Far in the back was a young girl, sitting with a group of people, but she seemed to be doing more listening than talking. He watched as she lifted her drink up to her lips and emptying whatever drink she was enjoying.
Then she stood up with the rest of the others. She turned her face fully so he could see. She had that face that made her younger than she seems; her eyes a deep brown; and her naturally dark hair cascading in loose curls over her shoulders, resting on the nape of her neck. She made her way through the crowd, heading toward the exit.
He slammed the full glass of scotch back down on the counter and stood up quickly. His friend raised an eyebrow.
“Where are you--fine, ignore me--hey!”
He ignored his friend and tried to catch up with her. He pushed through people who were lounging around, muttering ‘excuse me’ and ‘pardon’ along the way, but never did he take his eyes off of her retreating back. He nearly crashed into a waitress delivering drinks, earning himself a series of curses. He saw her walk out near the door and stood by there, talking and laughing.
She was nodding as her friends disappeared down the hallway, leading to the washroom. She stood with another friend, talking. Then as he pushed past more people to come closer, the other girl walked out of the door to take a phone call, leaving his subject of pursuit standing there alone.
As he was a few feet away from her, panic began to set in. What if it wasn’t her? What if she was married? Worst of all: what if she forgot about him?
He stayed alive out of the memory of her. He pushed himself to recover from his wounds because he wanted to see her again. He was quick on his feet and quick with his mind throughout his time overseas, just because he wanted to see her again. She encompassed all the stars he had seen at night in the dry desert sky; she was his every beacon of hope.
Now, she was standing so close, yet he was afraid. Fear of the future, as she once had told him. But she also had said to take whatever comes. This was his chance. She fit the description more than the others. It was her. His heart drummed against his chest as he walked slowly toward her.
She spotted him and her eyes turned toward him. He froze in place. She was too different. Her face had lost its cute youth and has formed into a mature beauty. However after a short moment of staring, he realized, she was still there, in the way she gave him the smile. He would never forget her smile. It’s the same smile, the smile that reached her mahogany eyes.
He approached her.
“Hello,” he said, feeling very awkward and knowing that his voice was shaking.
“Hello,” she said slowly, the small smile still on her lovely, rosy lips.
He didn’t know what to say to her. Did he even think about what he wanted to say when he sees her again? Not exactly. Now, he didn’t know. He just stood there, gaping, like a goddamn fish.
“Er--bye,” he said.
Her smile faltered and a frown replaced it. “Er--okay. Good bye.” He saw that she was hesitant. He turned, but he heard her voice. “Do I know you?” she asked.
He turned back and wanted to yell out ’yes, you met me on that plane ride to New York, nine years ago’, but he couldn’t bring himself to it. He settled with a short reply, “No.”
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He stared at me as if he had known me from somewhere, but he had replied with a “No.”
“What’s your name?” I asked, sure that he was lying. Did he go to school with me? Was he in my class?
He looked at me, straight into my eyes and I caught my breath. Those beautiful, intense blue eyes. I know them. My heart sped up rapidly. Did he remember me? Is that why he came over?
I swallowed. “You…” However, my words, like my heart and mind were lost in those blue orbs.
Then I was pulled out of it when he turned his gaze away.
“Sorry to bother you,” he said quietly, before walking away.
I stared at his back, watching him walk away. Could I bear to see him walk around the corner again? I shoved past the people and ran up to him, catching his arm. He turned to me, highly surprised.
“Paris was beautiful,” I said, breathlessly.
His eyebrows retreated under his dark fringes.
“Eight seconds,” he said. “My record for putting a weapon together after taking it apart.”
Tears sprang to my eyes and without thinking, I latched my arms around him, giving him the embrace that I was dying to give for many years. I must be like an idiot, hugging some person I barely know. But, that feeling of stupidity went away when I felt his arms wrapped around me.
He led her outside where they could talk quietly. She stood leaning against the wall, her face streaked with tear lines, which she was desperately trying to wipe away. He stepped forward and rubbed his thumb against her soft cheeks.
“Don’t cry,” he said.
She pursed her lips and nodded. “I’m--I’m just happy that you’re okay. I was worried that you might…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
He nodded. “I know. But…d’you know why I’m alive?” She shook her head. “Because I had hopes to see you afterwards. My hopes kept me alive.”
She gave a dry chuckle. “That’s so cheesy.”
“You know me well enough.”
“You weren’t that cheesy when I met you…you were blunt.”
“I grew to be a romantic,” he reasoned.
She sniffed. “This might sound stupid…but I wrote you letters.”
“Really? But…”
“I never sent them. I wrote them and enveloped them with the date on it, but I never sent them. It’s all stored in a box I bought in France.”
He smiled. “Who’s the cheesy one now?”
She pretended not to hear his comment and continued saying, “All nine years worth of them.”
“And your husband doesn’t mind?” he asked bluntly, forgetting about the ’romantic’ that he told her about.
She lifted her eyes to meet his. “I’m not married,” she stated.
He didn’t know what to feel. Whether to be happy that she was still available or sad because she wasn’t married. A person like her would have people coming a lot.
“I’ve had my fair shares of dates,” she continued. “But they didn’t work out.”
“Why not?”
She took his hand and led him away from the building and toward the parking lot. She went to her car and opened the door as he stood by, watching her curiously. He saw her opening her glove compartment and pulling out a piece of paper, folded in half. She came back out and closed the door.
“Here,” she said, handing him the paper. He took it, but kept his eyes on her as she went to the front of her car and leaned on the hood. He followed her and stood in front of her. He unfolded the paper and read the flowing words.
It was dated about three days ago, on the Fourth of July. As he read it, he realized that this girl had poured out her heart onto a piece of paper, designed to send it to him. He wondered, if he could read her heart on this one piece, then how much had she pour into nine years worth of letters.
When he finished, the folded the letter and put it into his pocket. He turned his gaze to her. She was looking down, refusing to meet his eyes.
He took his hand and cupped her chin, guiding her face upwards to look at him. When she did, he was surprised to see the fear in her eyes. What was she afraid of?
A smile spread across his face. Her eyes lit immediately, but with caution. He lowered his lips close to hers, but not yet touching them.
“I fell in love with a girl, nine summers ago while she talked to me on a plane to New York. I refused to give her my name because I didn’t want her to spend her life remembering and thinking about someone whose future is unclear and most of all, because I didn’t want her to waste her tears on me. I knew that when I did that, I love her.”
He lowered his lips onto hers. Her soft lips tasted of sweet mint, something that he believe he might become addicted to. He held her face in his hands, taking in every single line and texture of it. He felt her arms wrapping around his neck.
When he lifted his head away, he saw her cheeks flush rosily. A smile came on his lips.
“I’m glad I talked to you on that plane.”
“Me too,” she said. She tilted her head and smiled that amazing smile that kept his nightmares away. “Your hair is nicer.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Er--thank you?”
“You’re welcome,” she said, before pulling him into another deep kiss.
‘Yes‘, he concluded, ‘I will definitely become addicted‘, as he once against tasted the sweet mint.
I never felt so assured that this was meant to be. It was clearly fate--no, that’s too much of a simple word. It’s…destiny. I felt intoxicated by his kiss, having yearning for it ever since I realized that I had indeed fell in love with him. I will ignore the reference of intoxication to be the literal sense since I had a feeling he wasn’t just in a bar to buy spring water. But nonetheless, one must be romantic. Which reminds me…
I pulled myself away from the kiss, something I did half heartedly, but this was more important.
“What’s your name?” I asked breathlessly. “I mean…here I am kissing a guy whose name I don’t even know.”
“And I’m so different?”
“Yes, you’re not kissing a guy,” I said deadpanned. He laughed. That warm baritone laugh. “So are you going to tell me your name?”
“You addressed the letter to 32A,” he reminded me.
I chewed my lips. “Yes, but that’s because I don’t know your name.”
His dark blue eyes twinkled. “Will you tell me yours?”
“No, I will disappear once again and wait another ten years to meet up with you,” I said sarcastically.
He smirked. “You’re horrible.” He leaned in to kiss me again, but I pulled away.
“Nuh-uh. Not until you give me a name.”
“Names are relative. I can call myself anything.”
I smirked. Two can play at this game. “Yes,” I said slyly, standing on my toes to talk into his ear. “But I’m sure that given the male ego, you wouldn’t want me to call out any random name, if you get what I’m saying.” I stood back to watch his reaction. He was clearly impressed, but knew that he was caught.
“Evil,” he said. “If you mean it that way, then if I tell you my name then will you swear to only call that and not any others?”
I stared at him intently. “Yes,” I said softly.
“It’s Michael.”
“Well, hello Michael.”
“Hello, Grace.”
He kissed me before I could have a chance to ask him how he knew my name. Actually, I don’t really care.
