Just Traveling Through

At 20, life couldn’t have been better. I moved to Sydney, Australia, the month I was supposed to head off to college. No one saw it coming, not even my parents. Needless to say, I had left quite a few things unfinished. But the reason I couldn’t stay any longer was because I was miserable. I had done an excellent job at hiding it, with all the smiles, laughs and late nights out. I left it all behind to pursue happiness and peace of mind.

I had a nice flat in Sydney with a little windowsill garden. Things were looking up. I had met a few people who quickly became best friends and we did everything together. Prior to moving to Sydney, I had only had one boyfriend in my life. It hadn’t lasted long but it was enough to prepare me for the adventures I’d dreamed of. I’d gone through a few boyfriends in the two years in Sydney but one really stuck with me. Unfortunately, in the back of my mind there was always the one who got away; the one and only boyfriend in the United States.

And he was the reason I stood in front of the departures board in the airport. I readjusted the shoulder strap of my carryon, checked the status of my flight, and headed to Gate 7. I had exactly one hour until the plane was scheduled to board. I walked around the terminal in search of food, settling on a quick scone from a coffee shop and a cup of tea. I found a seat by the window overlooking the runway and sighed at the sunset. My favorite emotional colors all swirled into one infinite canvas.

I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket, reading over the few “I’ll miss you!” text messages I’ve already received. I smiled as I replied to each of them, reminding them that I would be back in five days. I hesitated on alerting anyone in the States. It would be easy to find a cab home, so what was the point in having someone go out of their way to pick me up. I slid the phone back into my pocket and closed my eyes against the remaining warmth of the setting sun, a small smile creeping its way onto my lips.

“Miss?”

I slowly opened my eyes. I had to hide my smile from this tourist. He had gone all out with his getup; tan safari button up and matching shorts, his outback hat snugly fitted to his balding head. He had a bright red face, so I assumed he had gone snorkeling during his stay.

“Are you waiting for flight 673? It’s boarding early.”

I sharply turned my head to the left and noticed the final boarding call flashing on the marquee. I gathered my purse and carry on, slinging both over my shoulder. I graciously thanked the tourist as I rushed to hand over my boarding pass. I had to control my pace as I headed toward the plane, knowing there’s no way the plane could taxi off with a passenger on the way. There ended up being a line backed up outside and a small sigh escaped my lips as I took my place behind an elderly couple. No one lined up behind me, and I was eternally grateful for the man in the terminal for waking me.

I checked my ticket for my seat number, 15A. I slouched into the seat, looking out the window briefly. The skyline glittered against the window as a silent goodbye. I rummaged through my purse for my prescription bottle. Twisting off the cap, I poured two pills into the palm of my hand and then returned the cap before dropping it back into the black abyss of my purse. I dry swallowed the pills, knowing I’d never be able to survive 12 hours in the air while fully awake. Sleeping the flight away would keep the regret from seeping its way into my brain, and thus I’d refrain from having panic attacks along the way. In 8 hours I would wake up long enough to walk around for a bathroom run, maybe read a magazine a couple times over, and then take another pill to make it through the rest of the flight.

When the plane touched down in the United States, I breathed a sigh of relief. A weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and I was one step closer to being home. I waited at baggage claim with the other 150 people from the flight, all of us irate and anxious to get along. A red light started flashing as I again rummaged through my purse for sunglasses. Bag after bag passed by until I finally spotted mine on the third go around. I hauled it off the belt, the stress returning to my shoulders.

The weather was chilly, something I hadn’t expected. With the jacket pulled tighter around my torso, a cab pulled up in front of me. The cabbie helped get my bag into the trunk as I gave him my destination; it would be a short drive, probably only $15 in his pocket for all of his troubles.

“What time is it?” I asked him from the backseat.

“Almost 2 in the afternoon,” he responded. “Where are you comin’ from?”

I sat back into the seat, texting my friends to let them know I had arrived safely. They would be sound asleep by now but it would give them something to wake up to. Setting my phone into my lap I replied, “Australia. Born and bred in Gilbert, though.”

“What brings you back?” he pondered, most likely aloud.

I shrugged and smiled. “Unfinished business. I left unexpectedly. I’m getting married in two months and decided now would be a good time to tie everything up.”

“Marriage, huh?” he quaffed. “You look a bit young for that.”

I blushed. “Ripe age of 20. But I’m sure you’re aware that love knows not of age.”

“He’s one lucky man,” he offered as he pulled into the familiar neighborhood.

“I think I’m the lucky one,” I said breathlessly. The house still sat perfectly, unchanged, at the end of the street. It was stark white with a light gray trim, a beautiful blue front door made it stand out brilliantly. The shrubs still divided the yard on the side with the neighbor my father hated, and I’m sure my mother still complained that the yard was uneven without shrubs on the other side too. And my sister; older, spoiled, and the favorite, she still lived there for free.

“Here we go, doll,” he commented as he pulled up to the curb. He popped the trunk after I handed him a twenty. I slowly slid out of the cab, examining the new car in the driveway. I plucked my luggage from the trunk, slammed it shut and stood there as he drove off. The two family cars were parked neatly in the garage. Who was in the driveway?

“Amelia?”

I lifted my eyes to the front door. My mother stood in shock. She had changed so much. Instead of her naturally dull, stringy brown hair, it was now firey red and wildly curled. She was a lot thinner than I remembered her to be. From where I stood, the love instantly ignited in her eyes.

In the shadows behind her, I saw another figure approach. The figure towered over my short mother. It wasn’t my father and I choked on the air I breathed.

“Amelia,” he said in disbelief. “You’re back.”

“Amelia isn’t back,” I heard from behind the two of them. The short blond-haired girl pushed her way to the front to see who was standing on their lawn. “She can’t be.”

I figured at this point it would only be right to start up the driveway. I managed to get halfway to the sidewalk before he gently surpassed the women in the doorway and stumbled over to me.

“Amelia,” he said, stopping me in my tracks. I was tired of hearing my name already. “None of us thought we’d ever see you again.”

“I’m getting married,” I announced to him and I could feel when his heart faltered. So much for easily cleaning up unfinished business.