So Many Thousands of Feet Off the Ground

Kennedy sat slumped against her door for seventeen minutes, watching the clock and listening as her sobs grew louder and softer, eventually dissipating into sniffles. He knew nothing about this girl other than that she was in pain, and it was killing him to not be able to help. Kennedy was empathetic and compassionate, and maybe a bit of a dreamer, but in the past that had all worked out well for him.

Savanya’s door swung open, resulting in Kennedy falling onto his back, looking up at her from the ground, trying to paint some kind of sympathetic look upon his face. “Were-were you listening to me?” she stumbled, the pitch of her voice raising near the end. “Kennedy?”

He nodded a little bit self consciously, standing up and brushing off his clothes. He observed that she had managed to wipe away most evidence that she’d been crying. Her hair was down, her cheeks dusted with blush, and her eyes lined lightly with eyeliner. “Are you ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” She uncrossed her arms, shoving her hands in her pockets. Kennedy grabbed his keys from the counter, motioning for her to follow him. “Where are we going?”

“I, uh, I uh figured we could go get something to eat, and then if you’re up for it, I’d drag you to band practice with me. Y’know let you meet some of my friends other than Garrett.” She scowled at Garrett’s name. She thought he’d been a little bit rude, sarcastic and out of line when she’d first met him—he didn’t give a good first impression. “I know he can be a dickhead sometimes, but he’s really a good guy once you get to know him. He’s a little bit crazy and has this unrealistic desire to kill zombies, but he’s one of the good ones.” In reply he received only a shrug, as she removed a hand from her pocket and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Following Kennedy out of the apartment, she focused on the ground and nothing else. He cleared his throat in an attempt to capture her attention, but she seemed entirely enthralled by the heather grey carpeting and white painted moldings. Instead of trying again and risking agitating her, he settled on sighing, pressing the button for the elevator incessantly, hoping that maybe by some miracle it’d make it come faster. “You know, if anything that’ll just make it take longer. We could always take the stairs.”

He whipped his head around, astonished that she’d spoken without him asking a question and dragging the words out of her. “You don’t talk much, do you?” Her shoulders rose and fell quickly, an almost half-assed shrug.

“My job was never to speak—only speak when spoken to. I was just supposed to stand there and look pretty.” She returned her gaze to the floor, trying to avoid any form of eye contact, fearing that she had said too much.

The elevator arrived and the two stepped in, watching the doors close and the numbers decrease with every ping. “Appearance means nothing if you have no personality.” His words stung, almost forcing tears to collect in the corners of her eyes. “Ah, shit, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean it like you had no personality. I-it was more of a general statement.” She rolled her eyes, looking away from the shaggy haired boy. “Really I’m sure you have a fantastic personality,” he remarked. He did all he could to try and bite back the sarcasm because it was no time to be getting snarky and sarcastic.

“I-I know that I’m not exactly o-outgoing, but, really, yo-you don’t want to know me,” she spat out quietly. “I-I am a terrible person. You should probably avoid me like the plague.” She looked up, now desperate to meet his eyes so he could see her for what she really was. “I’m harmless, but I’m terrible.”

The rest of the journey to the diner was awkwardly filled with hesitant small talk. She took it upon herself to make a remark about him being in a band and this not being high school anymore. He arched his eyebrows and swallowed a string of profanities that were boiling in his saliva like acid. In reality, the former model should not have commented at all, for her career would seem almost fake and juvenile as well.

Once seated in the diner, conversation resumed on a safer path. The food and coffee on the table separating them and filling the space between them seemed to ease the tensions.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed tiredly, swallowing the last bit of her pancake. “I don’t think I have ever eaten that much in a single sitting in my entire life.” Kennedy laughed as she rested her head against the back of the seat, brining her hands to her stomach for dramatic effect. “I swear, I just ate enough to feed a hundred starving kids in Africa.” He chuckled, swallowing his mouthful of coffee, watching her smile falter slightly as she moved her hands, reaching for her coffee and then folding her hands in her lap.

“I don’t know that I’d say a hundred…” he joked, trying to cheer her up again, “maybe fifteen-hundred?” A laugh escaped her throat as she looked up at him. She moved, resting an elbow on the table despite the fact that she’d been taught not to do so, and allowing her arm to support her head. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she mused, clearly lying for his sake. “It’s just nothing. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it.” She moved again, using both palms to support her head, both elbows on the table. “So, what were you saying about your friends before we left?” Kennedy shook his head, knowing that she was really just trying to avoid what was bothering her.

“I think I was telling you we were in a band and that I want you to meet them, y’know get you out socializing.” He stopped talking, sipping his coffee again as she rolled her eyes. “They’re really awesome people. I mean, granted they all have their douche bag, fucktard moments.”

“Fucktard?” she laughed, “now that’s a new one.” He grinned, ecstatic that he’d made her laugh.

“I’ve been using that one since middle school.” She rolled her eyes, continuing to fidget, removing her elbows from the table and crossing her legs.

“Which was when?” she joked, “1987?” Her lips pulled into a grin, feeling like she was finally comfortable enough to crack a joke or two.

“Ha, no,” he replied with a chuckle, “but I should ask you the same thing.” He watched her eyes move toward the window, her face fall and as she tried to pull herself up from the vinyl booth. “Something wrong?”

She widened her eyes, looking at him like a deer in the headlights. Her hands fidgeted, pulling at the bottom of her shirt. “We have to go. Now. We need to go. I need to get out of here.”

“What? Why?” She shook her head, starting to tear up, reaching for and yanking on Kennedy’s arm to pull him up. “What’s going on, Sav? Are you in some kind of trouble or something?”

She let go of his arm, feeling her breath hitch and get caught in her throat. She felt like her throat was closing up, almost like anaphylactic shock. It was like her body was betraying her, her limbs turning to jell-o and her blood being polluted by stomach acid. It was like she’d run for an entire twenty-four hours and her muscles were drowning in lactic acid. “Savanya?” Her eyes fell on him for a moment before the door opened and the family from the parking lot walked in. “Sav, calm down, alright? Just breathe, slowly. Come on, sit back down. I’ll get the check and we can go. Alright?” She nodded, letting her head fall into her hands, her fingers getting tangled in her own hair, her eyes wide and bugging out of her head. “You okay?”

“No,” she choked. Her throat was on fire, her ears were ringing, her heart was pounding. She could feel every blood vessel in her body pulsating. Her thoughts were swarming her head like bees from a disturbed hive. “I’m going to be sick,” she muttered, closing her eyes and trying to calm herself.

She sat there quietly until Kennedy nudged her, reaching for her hand, telling her that they could go. “Savanya, come on, I’ll take you home.” She nodded, taking his hand and standing slowly, following his lead as he pulled her toward the door. “Are you going to tell me eventually what has you so on edge?”

“No,” she whispered, her head throbbing, vomit inching its way up her throat. “I’m going to be sick.” She used her free hand to push her hair away from her face, fearing it was only making it all worse.

“You’re fine. It’ll be okay, just calm down. You’re making yourself sick.” She shook her head, pulling her hand away from his and covering her mouth.

“No, I’m gonna be sick,” she muttered, searching for some bushes or shrubs or something.

He pulled her back toward him, draping his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s just go home, okay?”