Flipping Coins

=)

What did one single line mean? Was that a yes or a no? Why weren’t there any instructions on these things?!!?

Well, I knew why there wasn’t any information included. I had bought the easy-on-the-pocket, flimsy dollar-store brand, and that brand came with two things and two things only: the box and the stick. Maybe they had meant for these blue-printed symbols to be self-explanatory, but I guess they never stopped to consider if I retard like Emie Brooks would get knocked up and be unable to decipher the code on their product.

I studied the line for several minutes, throwing the towel in when I knew that scowling at the thing wasn’t going to morph the problematic line into an evocative paragraph explaining if I was bearing another soul in my stomach or not. Sighing, I let the arm holding the simple device fall lazily to my side as I stared out before me--out of the biggest window in my apartment that had the finest view.

Staring at the scene of the city rushing about in its nightly life, I brought my hands to my stomach, cupping my seemingly level (except for the extra little cushion for the pushin, of course) belly on each side. I don’t know what I expected to feel from this--maybe another, much more rapid heartbeat, or perhaps another tiny hand pushing back against the patch of skin and muscle dividing where my hands were--but all I felt were the deep gurgles of my unsatisfied hunger grumbling about how late dinner was getting.

I sympathetically padded my roaring stomach. “Hang in there, buddy.”

Sighing, I lifted the stick to my face once more. I was going to throw it behind me like how all those refined wedding brides toss their floral bouquets, except with much less grace than most, but I stopped to analyze it just one more time.

This viewing, however, was from a different angle, and it suddenly hit me just how stupid I was.

Vertical--it was just a straight line stretching from North to South. Horizontal, however--it was a minus sign…another symbol which here meant ‘no, you are not going to conceive a child based upon the sample of pee you so graciously awarded me, so thank you for giving me a gold shower, you psycho.’

I decided that, to be fair in God’s green world, it’d only be right if I didn’t give a response to this news. Think about it--if I galloped around and whooped like a five year-old at Disneyland, that would basically be giving the impression that I didn’t appreciate life in the least, but I couldn’t mourn and act as though this report was the polar opposite of what I wanted, because then I’d just be lying to myself.

So, since I refused to react in either favor, I simply went to my vacantly bare kitchen and disposed of the skinny tool before I returned to the broad window overlooking Vegas.

I dare not deny it--I was going to miss this place. No matter how oppressive the climate could get, no matter how many tragedies could undertake in this alive city, no matter how many maddening rockstars resided here, I knew I was going to miss Vegas. It had served to be my home for 19 years now, and like the cliché line goes: there’s no place like home.

My severely emo thoughts were interrupted by the thunderous chiming of my cellphone tucked in my jean’s pocket’s folds. I pulled out the gadget, pressing it to the side of my face without so much as glancing at the number dancing across the screen.

“I’ll be down in two minutes,” I stated, continuing to stare before me at Sin City.

“Alright, no rush,” Jordan’s voice assured me, hanging up soon after saying so.

True to my word, I finally pried my eyes off the metropolis, assembled what little luggage I was taking with me, and averted away from the enormous window to begin the last walk out of my apartment that I’d ever take.

“Are you okay?” Jordan’s placed his hand on my shoulder, concern washing away the excitement that had previously captivated his face.

I found myself stuffed inside the back of an ill-treated cab with Jordan by my side, trying to comfort me when really he was just transferring his cooties onto my arm, as if that were hardly helping me in any way. Outside the taxi’s window, the city had transformed into a whirlpool of colors swiftly slipping past, flying away from me as though I were a virus infecting its very animated verve. I didn’t like the feeling of being ushered out of its protection, but I knew inside that it was for the best. This move was for the best.

“Emie?”

Jordan was desperate for me to adhere in his stimulation to moving in with him. He thought that it was the best thing that’d ever happened since Bono, while I was just trying to soak up as much of Vegas as I could before it was merely another collecting of my past life--another photo to show off at my funeral service.

…and this is where Emie was born and raised. She had moved away from Vegas when she hit adulthood, most likely to pursue a more stirring lifestyle. Leaving behind her family, friends, and childhood, Emie transformed into a Los Angeles woman with higher hopes in mind rather than mindless lifelong friendships and dull family dinners on Christmas….

“Emie!”

“What?” I barked, thrashing around to scathingly glare at Jordan.

An apologetic frown sauntered across his features, making me feel regretful for being so malicious to him, and he seemed at a sudden loss for words. “Oh, well I--uh--well I just wanted to…forget it. Sorry.” He cowardly turned aside; acting as though the vortex of rainbow that was Vegas fascinated him too as he stared pointedly out of the window.

I would have apologized right then in there had I not been filled with all this sudden panic, afraid that if I spent a minute away from my final observation of Vegas that I might miss it altogether. I couldn’t risk that kind of loss.

So I twisted back around, watching the multihued urban paradise race past me with nostalgia already sinking inside my soul.

When we reached the dreaded airport a fleeting few minutes later, and the last dash of the colorful city spurred across my window, I focused every last cell in my body to remain composed as I exited the suddenly comfortable cab, watching Jordan struggle to carry the majority of my luggage.

I offered to take a few of the bags from his shoulders, and then we were inside the airport, crammed in with thousands of other people either new, familiar, or inhabitants of Vegas.

After making many pit-stops to verify our tickets and such, we were finally able to sit in the scantily decorated waiting room until our plane would arrive.

Jordan seemed to think that I was listening to whatever he was telling me about this one amazing, change-you-life-once-you-dine-there restaurant in Los Angeles if I simply nodded my head from time to time, so it worked out well. Instead of actually paying attention to what my boyfriend was verbalizing, I resorted to examining the airport scene.

Across from us, there were two adolescent boys bickering over something while their mother drowsily set her lackluster eyes upon them, not bothering to break up whatever the heated debate was about. She reminded me of the old version of my mother--the one who wasn’t bursting with beautiful vivacity, the one who had still been tied down with my dad’s constantly livid ways of dealing with issues. I was moved with pity for the mother, assuming she was probably having to go through a lot with the way the lines in her face strained with age.

At the far north wall, a cuddling elderly couple mutely sat. The elderly woman was leaning her pallid head against the old man’s narrow shoulder as his sun-spotted fingers clutched her own weathered hand, tenderly running his thumb in a figure-eight motion across her knuckles. Although her eyes remained closed and his chest visibly rose with deep, sluggish intakes of air, smiles fit for consciousness curled across both of their lips. They just looked so…happy. Content with being in each other’s presence in the middle of a chaotic setting.

You can guess who they made me think of.

At the thought of him, my stomach reeled with many intense emotions. I wasn’t sure what they all were, but I was too obsessed with obtaining equanimity to annotate their full meanings. I needed to remain calm, so I curved my vision elsewhere.

My eyes then found a reasonably attractive man who must have been my age or only some years older. He was looking at me expectantly, and when our visions touched, his blue eyes grew bright.

Eyebrows bowing, I vowed to keep from looking that way for the rest of the night.

Oh, excuse me. Time to nod.

“Yeah,” I mumbled in agreement, giving Jordan the satisfaction of hearing me speak. Don’t get used to it, I thought idly.

I turned my eyes back upon the picture before me, and I then discovered the tiny toddler teetering towards what must have been her father. Her father grinned encouragingly, spreading his arms out before him as the girl stumbled uneasily across the three steps of space separating her and her dad. She achieved her goal, barely making it to her father’s care without throttling to one side. Her giggles echoed across the room as the father secured his arms around her and began to twirl her around. I found myself smiling with them.

It was about then that the intercom proclaimed the plane’s arrival, and not long after was the departure for Los Angeles announced. Jordan excitingly collected our items and led the way inside the metal tunnel that separated the airport to the airplane.

Jordan was babbling on about how much I’d love Los Angeles while he trudged on before me, but I wasn’t listening. How could I when, deep inside my mind, I was leaving behind all I knew?

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard United Airlines. We are pleased to have you with us this evening in Viva Las Vegas. The captain says we will be leaving shortly, so if you would please take your seats, fasten your seatbelts, and prepare for liftoff. Cellphones must be turned off while we are in flight.…”

“Oh my god,” I murmured to myself, “I’m actually going to do this.”

Jordan had finally resorted to silence; but only because he was sending one last text message to someone I could careless about--though they had just given me one last moment to say my goodbyes, whoever they were.

Rotating around to face the bitty, penny-sized window beside me, I gazed out at what little of the city I could view, and said the line that had been itching to be said all night:

“Goodbye, Vegas.”

And then the engine roared to life, and we began to fly away--away from my family, away from my friends, away from my life, away from Las Vegas, but, most importantly, away from Brendon.