The Goodbye Flight

There he stands, at my doorway in the rain, his chest heaving and droplets dripping from the end of his nose. His eyes are bloodshot and it is clear from the ring of red lining his lids that it’s not just from the downpour outside. He has run here from God only knows how many miles away, his knees mere minutes away from balking under the strain.

The jeans hanging low on his hips are soaked right through, serving as no protection from the wind that’s beginning to pick up in my wind tunnel of a street; his shirt clings to his chest beneath a sodden hooded jacket that did little against the torrent, and I can see the faint outline of his lightly sculpted torso.

Behind the door that I hold open are a stack of cases and bags I packed days ago in anticipation of today, each one more brimming than the last and containing all of the possessions I have not already separated from. Behind him is the taxi I sent for twenty minutes prior to whisk me away from here, honking its horn as the sullen driver grows more agitated at my unmoving.

And me. I stand, back to the now empty house that I am to leave behind. The walls are bare, any furniture that I am leaving for the next occupant covered in dust sheets to protect it from the fresh paint – a stipulation of the contract I entered into upon moving here. My jeans are spotting with rain up to the knee, my shirt and jumper holding in my body heat beneath a duffle-fastened trench coat – I am overdressed for where I am going.

The gloomy sky above flashes slightly and the clouds groan out a roll of thunder; the storm is still several miles away but it creeps ever on, the heavying of the rain indicative of what is to come. Where I am going the sky is a permanent blue, the hot sun beating down on steaming pavements and golden beaches; the occasional quake is a small price to pay for the lack of weather.

These plans have been in place for several months, but in my mind have been forming for more years than I care to admit. I never wanted to stay, never had much tying me to this maudlin island with its temperamental climate and its dour citizens. I’d yearned for more, a broader scope in which to learn and grow and become something more than I ever could at home.

But as I stare into those baby blues I can see how badly he wants to hold me here, how much he needs me to stay within arms reach.

‘Don’t go,’ he says, his voice weak and strangled by impending sobs. ‘Don’t get on that plane.’

We have been standing like this for mere seconds but to me it feels more like hours. The first thing to flash through my mind is anger – how dare he? All the time in the world he has had to appear at my door. I have made no secret of my longing and he has failed to deliver until the last minute, when I could want or need nothing less. Am I to sacrifice my dreams, my opportunities for a man so indecisive that he may be confusing love with simple folly?

What would you have me do, I think to myself, for now more than ever I am embittered by his past ignorance. It feels unfair, unjust, that it would take an event such as this for him to realise any feelings he may have. Or perhaps he thinks it romantic? It is reminiscent of a saccharine film, heaped with clichés beyond sense and realism.

I soften as I think how he may not have known about my leaving until now. Perhaps he had always planned to come clean and admit, but with time almost out there was no other way. A glimmer of sympathy worms into my mind and strikes the bitterness hard, sending a pang of guilt into my core. I am instantly reminded of the days we shared, spent laughing and in earnest friendship – partners in crime against the sadness of the world. Tears prick my eyes beneath the shock etched into my features but I am unfaltering as I hold them in their place away from sight.

How could he have known that, despite my love for him being so overwhelming it drowned out sleep, that in his absence and unwillingness to reciprocate another would edge into the picture, dividing my affections?

Upon my thinking of him he creeps into view in my mind: the man among mountains, the boy across the water, the final word in leaving this world for another. Our accidental meeting over the airwaves, his words of encouragement at seeking the possibilities of studying abroad, the slow feeling of falling for his smile as he spoke of the wonders of his world.

Only now do I recognise the resemblance in character; the sweetness, the selflessness, the sheer determination to put right all that is wrong with the world single-handedly with me in tow. Now I see that there is far more at stake in this once simple decision, that there are so many factors to take into account before I choose.

Boy, do I know how to pick ‘em.

If I were to stay I could have baby blues, curled up in quilts on rainy nights and knotted together so no one could tell where I ended and he began. Long commutes to and from a reasonably paying, moderately challenging job with the respite of his warm, strong arms to hold me at the end of the day. All I’ve ever known still present in my life, nothing new to learn and nothing new to see. Familiarity.

But if I were to go, I’d trade it all in for wide-eyed browns and a new beginning. A new system to which I’d have to become accustomed, more culture than I could absorb in all of my life. New things to learn, a fresh prospective on the discipline I have spent my days on and when it all becomes too much, a soft chest to bury my tear stained face into and tender hands to hold my resolve in place. Opportunity.

The anger is gone now, burned out by guilt and then by confusion. This cycle of emotions rages through my system, pooling in my stomach and threatening to eject the small amount of food I managed to force down due to anxiety long forgotten now. But the confusion is cut down by a wave of determination that erupts from my chest like a volcano, massive and absolute in its desire to win out against the bedrock of my hesitation.

I am not leaving because of him. I am not going somewhere new because of someone new. I am not jumping from the ship of his love onto the raft of the love of another. Romance is not a factor in this destiny of mine, not now. I am leaving for me; I am going for me. I am exploring a new land in search of education, of learning, of self-improvement and self-fulfilment.

And all at once the memories of him and the memories of the other are muted because they are no longer relevant to this. Like the ropes of relationships have been cut, the rocks that have been holding me down far beneath the water have been sent to the ocean floor and I can swim, finally, to the surface and breathe for no one but me.

He cannot hold me down now. No one can – except me should I choose it. And choose it I do not.

The time it takes for this all to play out in my head is only seconds. He stares at me, unchanged, his plea written out on his face and the hope glinting, faint but daring, deep in those baby blue eyes. I love him – that much is true – just as I love the man with the wide-eyed browns, but that is not enough to keep me here or send me away. I’m not flying for them – I am flying for me.

‘No,’ I say, softly but defiantly. ‘I have to go.’

The words have such a finality that they wind him, sucking the air from his body like a physical force has struck him in the gut. I know I am to blame as tears well up and fall from his eyes but they cannot change my mind. I cannot stay for the sake of his tears.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, and I truly mean it.

I stand, straight backed and tip-toed, and kiss him softly on his lips. He hesitates for only a split second before returning my gesture and I can taste his regret on my tongue. I almost falter but hold my ground as I pull away; I say no more words because there is no more fitting a goodbye than this. I do not know if I will ever return, for him or otherwise, so I don’t ask him to wait or to follow me – it would be unjust to promise anything now.

Picking up my bags I take a step and he moves aside, providing no barrier now to the new life that lies ahead of me. He looks smaller now, older somehow, and once more I know I am to blame.

It takes one more trip for the rest of my things and I sigh as I close the door behind me, its allegorical significance loud in the stormy night. His eyes meet mine as I turn to leave but he stops me briefly, stealing one more long kiss before he lets me go for what could be forever. And he says nothing as he releases me to the taxi, where I load my bags into the back and take my place behind the driver.

As we drive away and he watches me leave I watch him disappear. Smaller and smaller he gets, unwaving and unmoving, and I can see him breaking from here. The sadness overwhelms me and I do not fight the tears anymore. I have sacrificed him for the sake of whatever future I might find overseas, and have hurt him for the sake of my happiness. Though I’ve not to let myself discount the possibility of falling into his arms later, there’s the feeling of a line being drawn in the sand.

I am gone, leaving him behind so I can move forward.