As soon as my ass was in the seat, I cried. Silently so that I would not disturb the other passengers, my hoodie pulled closely to my nose, to shield the pain and torment that needed to be released. A seasoned traveler, I was lucky to be assigned the window seat, so I did not need to get up to allow another passenger entry and could let all of my past hopes, fears, insecurities, lust, love and dreams soak up my clothing, sink into my skin and renew my spirits. The flight attendant counted passengers to my left and the one at the front of the plane gave emergency instructions that I knew by heart. As the plane taxied down the runway, a sort of calm swept across my body; it was marked by chills, goose-bumps, a slight dizzy sensation and a feeling of relaxation. This calm was the moment that I settled into my pain.
Waiting for the announcement that it's ok to use my IPod Touch was my only focus a few minutes into the flight. I wanted to hear a specific playlist, filled with songs about everything from political and social injustices to finding and keeping true love to bitches and hoes and everything in between. A mix of songs that have humorous lines, melodic rhythms, soulful voices and tempos, arrangements and beats that would fill my body. As I imagined the sounds and feelings entering my ears and coursing through my body, I felt myself relax again. Finally, I heard the ding that announced that my immediate need would be met. Earphones on, music playing, I closed my eyes and continued to cry.
As I cried and listened to sounds and searched my thoughts for the moment I knew it was over but was too chicken shit to take action. It was that phone conversation months ago that had initially broken my heart. I was home, awaiting his arrival, when he called. He professed his love for me and for what we had built over the years. He spoke of a future that we would experience, full of everything we wished for. It was a conversation that we have had many times before, but previously, it lacked the verbalized adoration that humans need occasionally. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to believe that he was finally able to be open and honest with me about his feelings, but I knew this side of him was unchartered. He continued to talk, although he was minutes away from home and dinner was plated and waiting, wine already poured. I focused closely on his words, interpreting his tone, the highs and lows in his voice and I could hear between the words he spoke.
When he arrived home, he washed for dinner and joined me at the table. A warm kiss, great conversation accompanied a great meal. A night of lovemaking followed; I considered it one of our best. The next morning, we woke, dressed for work, had breakfast and began our days. Life continued as normal until this morning. He woke me up at 3am, fully dressed. He said that he needed space and that he never loved me, he was wrong. He said that he knew he didn't love me, was never capable of loving me and only continued the façade because it was easier than being alone. This man woke me up out of my sleep to tell me that the last 6 years that we spent together was a lie. He apologized for misleading me and said that he just needed me to say that we would remain friends. He wanted me to promise that our friendship would not be impacted. He wanted me to promise. Promise? Promise! Promise to him, the man who make conscious decisions to continuously, systematically lie to me. On this flight, in this chair, strapped in to a seat that serves also as a life saving flotation device, I begin to laugh hysterically.
My laugh was bold; it was new, fresh and embarrassing to everyone who heard it. But it was the end of a lie that I didn't realize I was living. It energized me and I looked forward to the plane landing in Miami so the warmth could lead my next move, because it would be by far, my best move. I ended my laughter, the same way it began to everyone else, abruptly. And I prayed. I prayed for forgiveness and forgetfulness. I prayed for strength and the ability to love again. I prayed for faith, patience in the process of rebuilding and to look good in the bikini I would buy when I landed. And I laughed again at myself. I laughed at the way I looked at him when he sought my hand in eternal friendship. I felt my face, formerly distraught from the hurt, then surprised at the insistence of an on-going friendship with a professed liar, user and abuser. I laughed again as I remembered that I never answered him. Instead, I got up from the bed, opened my laptop and searched for a flight. I found a non-stop from New York to Miami at 9am and purchased the ticket. Behind me, he questioned what I was doing, where was I going. He demanded answers. I remained silent. I packed my purse, laptop and showered. When I began to lotion my body, he sat on the floor below me and told me that he did in fact love me, but I stopped listening. I caressed my body with the sweet smelling lotion and lay back on the bed. I began to love myself with him sitting right there. I heard him when he began to sob and I came to the sound. I picked myself up from the bed and looked down at the man that I love and watched him cry into his hands briefly. I stepped around him, entered my closet and began to dress.
As I dressed, he began to question me again, demanding to know where I was going, how long I would be away and if I intended on speaking to him. The reality of it all would not allow me to speak still, so I remained silent. And when my silence overtook his feelings, he hit me. Open hand, across my face with enough force to knock me into my dresser. I did not anticipate the initial blow or the closed fisted one that followed to my chest. The wind knocked out of me, holding onto the dresser, I was livid. I screamed at him, wanting desperately to understand what he wanted from me after dropping such a bombshell. I yelled for him to explain. He retreated slightly, giving me enough space to open the second drawer of the dresser I used only seconds before as my lifeline between standing upright and hitting the floor. I opened the drawer and felt what I wanted immediately. I retrieved the gun, a gift from my father. I raised it quickly and thought that the next moment would change my life and I pulled the trigger. One shot fired, one bullet through the left side of his chest. Blood sprayed on my face and hands, on my clothes and shoes and he fell from the force of the close range shot.
I felt the warm, wet feeling of blood on my face and wiped it away. I stepped around him again to exit the closet. I entered the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I didn't recognize the person, so I cleaned up, applied make-up and prepared to leave. I grabbed the few belongings that I would take with me to the condo in Miami and left for the airport. Again, I felt the sensation of calm sweep across my body. I was on course to begin a new chapter of my life, or as I planned, a new life as a new person.
