Somewhere in Neverland

The van is silent as it drives along the highway, meandering its way towards the airport to bid us goodbye for six weeks. I’m doing my very best not to think about the awkward fest I’m about to encounter, so I snuggle deeper beneath my blanket and close my eyes, trying my best to go back to sleep, but it’s no use.

The sun isn’t up yet and it won’t be for a few more hours. We’re flying from California to Maryland today to meet our bus and make it to New Jersey tomorrow. Somewhere in between now and the first show we’re meeting up with All Time Low to go over our setlist.

As nervous as I am, there’s a small bit of me that can’t help but feel butterflies whenever I think about the time I’m about to spend with Alex.

Ian shifts in his sleep and I’m jealous of his ability to sleep through something like this. Early mornings are miserable and I want nothing more than to be in the comfort of my own bed right now, but I know I’m not gonna see it again for nearly six weeks. Something about that is extremely unsettling.

By the time I’m finally able to drift off to sleep, I’m almost immediately informed we’ve arrived at the airport. Groggy and overtired, everyone piles out of the van and waits to unload our stuff.

No one says a word as we find our things. I sling my backpack over my shoulders and shove my pillow and blanket under my arms, finding my duffel bag and hoisting it off the ground. Eventually we make our way into the building, walking over to the check in kiosk.

It isn’t long before we’re hugging Mama Savage goodbye and stepping into line for security.

This is it. We’re really leaving for tour. We’re really doing this.

“Do you have all your stuff separate, Caroline?” Bam asks and eyes me in a way that I know not to object.

“Yup,” Is all I say.

The line moves quickly and I can only attribute it to the early hours of the day. We’re only in line for about five minutes before I find myself emptying my pockets and filling the bucket with my belongings.

“Step right through,” The security guard instructs, pointing to the full body x-ray machine.

I glance down at my pump and second guess myself.

“Could you do a separate check instead?” I ask, pointing to the insulin pump attached to my pants. “Or just inspect this and not make it go through that thing?”

He puts his hand out and waits as I unclip the tubing from my body and hand him my lifeline.

“Put your feet where the outlines are,” He says, checking out my mechanical pancreas. “You’re all good, step aside please.”

The boys are ahead of me and most already have their shoes on, but security holds me back to inspect all of my supplies. They go through my insulin stash, try and force me to throw away my juice, and get snippy about multiple things.

“Ma’am, I realize you have diabetes, but no liquids are allowed through security,” One man says. “It’s just protocol.”

I’ve been diabetic long enough to know that’s a load of bullshit, so I turn on my bitch mode.

“So when my blood sugar goes low, because it will, what do you expect me to do?” I ask, cocking my head to the side and placing my hands knowingly on my hips. “I’m not paying four dollars for a juice that isn’t even going to get me back to where I need to be. So you can let me bring my un-opened cans of juice on the plane with me, or you can suffer the wrath of my low blood sugars.” I pause long enough to find his badge. “Because when I go low, I’ll come looking for you, Jason.”

He eyes another security guard questioningly and waves me through.

Bam grabbed my stuff off the conveyor belt and he hands me my shoes, which I slip on in step with the boys, who are already on their feet with all their belongings stuffed under their arms.

“I’m hungry,” I say, picking up my speed to catch up.

“You’re diabetic,” Luke says. “You should probably eat something, then.”

I roll my eyes. All of the boys agree that all they want to do is find our gate and pass out, but I can tell that I need to eat something soon.

We find our way to gate 37 and I drop my carry-on bag and pillow before wandering off to find food. I’m not going to lie, being awake at 6 am gives you a little leeway in the whole crankiness thing, and yes, working at McDonald’s in an airport for a living isn’t exactly a great life, but when you want to smart mouth an exhausted diabetic with low blood sugar who’s already on edge, you’re lucky if said diabetic doesn’t rip out your throat.

“Look, bro,” I say after three snide comments under his breath about my neediness. “My blood sugar is probably around 30, my body is shaking, I fucking want to haul off and slap you, and all I need is for you to magically produce me some food, okay? That’s not too much to ask, is it? And if it is, if you could kindly point me to a vending machine that doesn’t talk back that would be lovely.”

The man looks at me and rolls his eyes before leaning across the counter and pointing to the left.

“It’s around the corner,” He says in monotone.

I storm off. “Dick.”

When I round the corner, the machine is standing right in front of me and I eye my choices carefully. There’s nothing quite like a bag of Doritos or a Snickers bar in the wee morning hours, but I opt for a granola bar and hope it comes with enough carbs to raise me up a bit.

I wander back to the gate and groan when I realize we still have an hour and a half before we board. Most of the boys are asleep, but Bam and Roland stay awake to make sure we don’t miss our boarding call.

“Hey, McGee,” Roland says as I sit down and pull my test kit out of my backpack.

I nod to acknowledge his comment, but pay attention to the lancing device I’m holding against my fingertip. After successfully getting enough blood, I feed it into the test strip in my meter and lick the remaining blood off my finger.

Twenty-four.

Solid job, Caroline. How the hell haven’t you passed out yet?

I scarf down the granola bar like it’s my job and chug one of the juices I fought security to let through, making it taste that much better. Or it might just be the low, but either way, I feel better after a few minutes and lay my head down on Theo’s shoulder. He stirs a bit, but doesn’t wake up and I drift into an uneasy sleep.

“Wake up, guys,” I hear Roland say and I feel him shaking me slightly, but I fight it. I don’t want to wake up. “They’re boarding now, wake up.”

When I finally cave, I see the airport is much more crowded than it was earlier. There’s a line waiting to board the plane and most of the boys have joined in. Theo stands, staring at the wall opposite him, a blank expression on his face while Ian fights sleep while standing. Luke refuses to wake up and I seriously contemplate slapping him, but I’m instructed to get in line before I can do any physical damage.

Russell and Samson are still gathering their belongings when I step into line behind our techs, Otto and Miller, my boarding pass in hand. The flight attendants have the line moving quickly and before I know it, I’m shuffling awkwardly through the cramped aisle looking for my seat, 14B.

Theo and Otto have gotten to the row before me and already shoved their bags in the overhead compartments, leaving little room for my duffel bag. Still, I somehow manage to shove it in and forcefully close the lid before slipping past Otto to the middle seat.

People trickle aboard for about twenty minutes as we sit at the gate, meandering up and down the aisles, looking for places to store their carry-ons. Otto has managed to pass out cold throughout the experience and Theo slips into a state somewhere between being fully asleep and fully conscious. I have this insane talent for not being able to sleep on planes, so I know the next five hours are going to be super fun.

After what seems like forever, the pilot announces the doors are closed and asks the flight attendants to take their places in the aisles to go through the safety precautions as we taxi to the runway.

I try my best to close my eyes and block everything out, but my mind is wandering and I can’t get it to stop.

I’m on a plane to go on tour with my band. I’m on a plane to go on tour to open for All Time Low, which, funny enough, is Alex’s band.

Holy shit, what the hell did I get myself into?

My eyes fling open in a panic and I try my very best to hide my insecurities and second thoughts from everyone, which isn’t very hard because most of them are sound asleep or stifling laughter from the flight attendants’ false enthusiasm as they’re forced to go through the motions of accident protection.

“At this time I’d like to ask the flight crew to prepare for take-off,” The pilot’s voice sounds over the loudspeaker as the flight attendants make their way through one last time to close any overhead compartments that are still open and to check that everyone is safely fastened in, before making their way to the front and buckling themselves in.

“As we approach the runway, I’d like to thank you all for choosing to fly Delta,” He says. “We have beautiful weather ahead for our approximately five hour flight to Thurgood Marshall Airport in Baltimore, Maryland.”

I’m not sure that I’ve mentioned it before now, but I have awful anxiety when I fly. My knuckles have lost any color they once had as I grasp the armrests for dear life, finding my unconscious friends to be no form of support.

The moment the front end of the plane rises off the ground, my stomach drops and I’m not convinced I can hold back my granola bar, and the feeling doesn’t stop once we’ve leveled off into the air, either.

“At this time passengers may turn on and use any approved electronics,” The pilot announces and I immediately reach into my pocket for my iPod, shoving my headphones into my ears and shuffling until it lands on Down by Blink-182. It’s my attempt at blocking out the world around me, but I can’t help but remember the connotation of the title and my current location 30,000 miles above the ground, so I immediately shuffle it again.

After a few minutes of no luck, it lands on Hello Brooklyn by All Time Low and I try and find a reason to change it, but I can’t. The upbeat tempo and feel-good vibe is oddly comforting, so I leave it.

It’s like the olden days – the days before I was forced to pick up and move. The days when I would sit and listen to the boys play live all afternoon, back when Alex’s voice could hold my attention as long as I could hear it. Hearing Alex’s voice blast through my headphones makes my heart ache for the days when I could see him any time I wanted. I want nothing more than to go back to those days and let him wrap his arms protectively around my body and tell me everything is going to be okay.

But those days are behind me and as much as I want to, I can’t go back to them.

Alex is one of the very few people who have broken down the walls I built up around myself. My walls have held me back in life and Alex saw that. They weren’t easy to break down and it wasn’t an immediate thing. It took time and energy, two things that most people aren’t willing to put in, but for whatever reason, Alex was dedicated to my cause.

Without realizing what I’m doing until the act is done, I find myself flicking through the artists option on my iPod and landing on All Time Low. I want to soak his voice in; I want it to sing me to sleep like it used to. I want to be with him.

Shit, I can’t be thinking like this. Thoughts like these are going to cause way too much heartache than it’s worth because that was in the past and it needs to stay there.

Still, I can’t help but close my eyes and let his voice lull me into an unexpected sleep.