2.
Rich
I see her the moment she gets on the plane. Everyone does. She’s impossible to miss. There’s something…luminous, for lack of a better word…about her, something that draws the eye to her like a moth to a flame. It’s not just that she’s gorgeous, which she most definitely is. It’s something else, some ineffable quality that seems to emanate from her every pore. Whatever it is, it’s hard to explain. All I know is that I can’t take my eyes off of her.
This magnetism probably has something to do with the fact that she’s completely oblivious to it. As she lilts down the center aisle of the plane, every man’s eyes follow her. Husbands talking to their wives pause mid-sentence to watch as she lifts her bag into the overhead bin above her seat in the middle of the plane. An acute sense of longing fills the air.
As soon as she appears, my first thought is that I should talk to her. Only when I’m halfway out of my seat do I realize what I’m doing and force myself to sit back down. No, Rich. Remember, you’re on this trip to get away from women. To get away from everyone, in fact.
I grimace because I know I’m right. The last thing I needed at the moment was to get entangled again, not just now when I’d finally gotten free. Better to hunker down as planned. Still, never before had such a strong urge to go to someone filled me. A strange feeling, indeed.
Soon, the plane has filled and is taxiing down the runway. While we await takeoff, the flight attendants go over their spiel about safety. Afterwards, the pilot mumbles a few words over the intercom. Nine hours until we touch down in Hawaii, he says. Until then, sit back, relax, have a drink on us, and enjoy the flight.
The moment the plane leaves the ground, it’s like a great weight is lifted from my shoulders. A vacation like this was exactly what I’d been needing. When was the last time I had had any amount of time to myself, much less an entire summer? Not that I had any right to complain about my life, of course. I was lucky to be me and I knew it. Rich Anderson, number one quarterback in the entire professional football league. And not even thirty yet!
Still, I had to admit sometimes the limelight could get to be a bit too much. One didn’t understand how exhausting it could be not being able to go anywhere without someone recognizing you and asking for a photograph or complaining because you lost a game and for whatever reason they’ve decided to take it personally. Plus, it was hard to know who actually liked you for you. Most people just wanted to get close so they could feel what it was like to live in the shoes of a famous athlete for a day, all without having to put in any of the hard work. Or, if they were truly terrible people, what they wanted was to take active advantage of all that you had worked your tail off for and to suck you dry until there was nothing left to suck.
Like Charlotte.
Exactly. Just like Charlotte. Although in my ex’s case—man, it felt good to call her an ex!—she had done much more than just take advantage of me. She had been crazy, too. In fact, she’s the real reason I’m on this plane right now in sunglasses and baseball hat and no longer sporting my trademark beard. It had been her unhinged shenanigans that had inspired me to buy a one-way ticket to Hawaii. Hopefully, where I was going, not one person would recognize me and I would finally be able to get some peace and quiet. I was tired of having to hear about all the crazy things she still insisted on telling everyone I’d done.
When the stewardess comes by, I order two drinks, downing both the moment she places them in front of me. Perhaps it was best not to think about Charlotte and all the ways she’d tried to ruin my life. And all because I’d casually mentioned that I wasn’t ready to get married, that I was focused on myself and the next phase of my life! After all, I had tried to explain, football wasn’t going to last forever, and I needed to start thinking about what came next. Honestly, I was grateful she had revealed her true nature sooner rather than later. Better to have the crazy show up now than ten years down the road when children were tossed into the mix.
I’m seated at the very back of the plane, an entire row to myself. Not surprising considering I bought all three seats myself. I stretch out across them, order another drink (this is my first time drinking in almost a year and I can already feel the alcohol going to my head), and click through the movie offerings on the small TV set in the back of one of the seats in front of me. Remembering the luminous woman from before, I raise my head and glance towards her seat. I can just make out the blonde top of her head leaning against the window. Is she crazy, too?
I end up falling asleep about fifteen minutes into the terrible movie I’ve chosen and actually manage to sleep quite peacefully for the next several hours, something else I haven’t done in some time. Undoubtedly, this too has something to do with the fact that I was finally escaping the cage that was my life, that madhouse zoo enclosure of football practice and football games and watching football film and being a celebrity and never being able to leave my house without a camera in my face. Relaxing would be an understatement.
Dinner is served halfway through the flight, the stewardess rousing me to give me my meal. As soon as I’m finished, right back to sleep I go. When next I wake, the plane is over the ocean, no sign of land in sight. Seeing the endless expanse of water stretching in every direction, my heartbeat begins to race. If we were to crash…
“Aloha, ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot says over the intercom, interrupting the morbid thoughts that have begun to fill my head. “In twenty minutes we will begin making our final descent into Honolulu. I hope you enjoyed your flight. Thank you for flying with us and we look forward to seeing you again on your next visit to our wonderful state.”
An hour later, we’re on the ground. A cheer goes up in the cabin when our wheels hit runway. A few minutes later, we’ve pulled up to the terminal. The moment we’re docked, a bell dings. As one, the passengers rise and begin to gather their things. Only I don’t move. Seeing as this was the first time in several years where I didn’t have somewhere to be, it was a pleasure to just sit and enjoy my newfound freedom.
Freedom. What a strange word. I hadn’t been this free since I’d signed up for football back in the fourth grade. What the hell was I going to do with myself?
The plane empties quickly, the drunk passengers only too happy to disembark. When the last couple has stumbled off the plane, laughing and ribbing one another as they go, I sigh and push myself to my feet. Sometimes, seeing so many happy couples bothered me. It wasn’t so much that I wanted what they had. It was more so that I was just tired of being stuck with the opposite: a woman who cared only about my name and my image and what I could do for her. Such one-sided relationships were so infinitely tiresome, not to mention lonely.
Grabbing my bag from the overhead bin, I set off towards the front of the plane, noting as I do that I’m not the only remaining passenger on the plane as I’d first thought. The beautiful woman from before is still in her seat, her forehead against the window. As I near her, she sighs and seems to sink deeper into her thoughts.
Hesitation grips me. For whatever reason, my heart has started to pound. Just like before, I’m struck by an overwhelming urge to go up and talk to her. Funny that I should be nervous, something I hadn’t been with the opposite sex in many, many years. Hard to be nervous when practically every woman you met threw herself at you.
I decide not to say anything. As I’d said, that wasn’t not why I was here. The easiest way to avoid trouble was not to greet it, especially when one already had more than enough on his hands.
“Excuse me.”
The words leave my mouth before I realize what I’m doing, popping out of their own accord as I’m passing her seat. My body, following their cue, stops. Wait, what did I think I was doing? Hadn’t I just said I wasn’t going to say anything?
Luckily, the woman doesn’t notice. Or so it seems at first. I’m just about to breathe a sigh of relief and continue on, when, as if several seconds had been needed for my words to trickle through her ear and into her brain, she turns slowly in her seat. The look she gives me—a lost look, a look of longing and pain—cuts straight through to my heart.
“Y-yes?” she stammers, a blush spreading across her cheeks. It’s so cute I can’t help but smile, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering all the more forcefully.
“Hi,” I say. “How are you?”
Oh, good one, you dolt.
“Fine,” she says. Her eyes falling from my face down to my chest and shoulders and arms, she swallows heavily. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” I say with a laugh. This close, she’s even more beautiful than from afar. Her eyes are unlike any I’ve ever seen. They seem to positively glow and are so green that I’m immediately reminded of the rainforests of the Pacific Northwest. Even so, I can tell that something heavy is weighing on her mind; she looks about as open as a closed book. “Just wondering if you’re okay.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” she murmurs, brushing back a strand of blonde hair from her face. Her hand is delicate, her fingers long and graceful.
“Good. Because I’m not sure if you’ve realized this, but we’ve landed. We’re officially allowed to get off the plane now. Unless I misread this situation and you’re actually one of those strange people whose idea of a vacation is to fly from one city to another and you’re about to go back to where you started.”
Ugh. Good joke, Rich. Hilarious.
Even though it might just be the worst joke ever told, the woman smiles. It’s like watching sunrise over the ocean: absolutely breathtaking. Just as quickly, the smile disappears, her eyes clouding back over. It’s as if she’s just caught herself doing something she isn’t supposed to be doing.
Without responding, the woman unbuckles her seatbelt and pushes herself up from her seat. As she reaches for the overhead bin, I reach over her and grab the only remaining bag, a small green duffel with hardly a thing in it.
I hand it to her, my grin widening. She looks at me for a second, the expression in her eyes all but impossible to read, and then turns and starts down the aisle. I fall in step behind her.
As we approach the front of the plane, the stewardess pauses what she’s doing and looks up at us.
“Enjoy your stay, lovebirds!” she says. “There’s no more romantic place than Hawaii!”
“Oh, we’re not—“ the woman begins.
“Thanks,” I interject, stifling a snicker. My beautiful mystery woman shoots a look back at me. Raising an eyebrow playfully, I usher her out onto the gangplank. The stewardess, obviously not understanding, shrugs and goes back to what she’s doing.
We don’t say a word as we walk down the gangplank together and enter the terminal. As soon as we’re inside the airport proper, the woman turns to me, her mouth opening as if she’s about to say something. But before she can, a group of women in hula skirts and coconut bras surround us.
“Welcome to Hawaii!” the women cry in unison. Leis are pulled over our heads and kisses planted on our cheeks. A man in a Hawaiian print shirt holding a camera appears out of nowhere and shoves the two of us together.
“Okay, you two,” he says, holding the camera to his face. “Smile! You’re in the most beautiful place in all the world!”
I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. My promise to keep to myself now all but forgotten what with all the fun I’m having, I wrap an arm around my mystery woman’s shoulder and hug her tightly to me. The photographer snaps a picture, moving so quickly that the woman from the plane doesn’t even have time to smile.
“You two can get your photo on my website,” the photographer says as he hands the woman a business card. I lean over to look at it. On the front is a picture of the photographer. Beneath it, a byline: Dan Rogers, Professional Photographer Of The Great State Of Hawaii. “Now tell me,” Dan Rogers continues, “are you two here for your honeymoon?”
“No, I don’t actually know hi—“ starts the woman from the plane.
“Yep,” I say, cutting her off for the second time.
Nodding, his formalities aside, the photographer sets off after the women in hula skirts.
“Well, that was something,” I say, dropping my arm from around my “wife” and turning to look at her. She’s standing with one hand on her hip, her mouth hanging open. The look she’s giving me is one I’d recognize anywhere: pure indignation. Suffice to say, it’s not my first time getting such a look. Even so, behind it, I can see something else: enjoyment.
“I’m Rich, by the way,” I say, holding out a hand. “Though you should probably know already that since we’re married.”
“Becca,” she says carefully, placing her hand in mine.
“A pleasure, Becca. So, what are you doing out here?”
“Vacation. You?” she responds automatically. Despite the spark of enjoyment still evident in her eyes, the tone of her voice tells me she’s not the slightest bit interested in chatting.
“Same. What resort are you staying at?” Even though I can tell she doesn’t want to talk, I can’t stop myself from pressing forward. Something inside of me is demanding I find out more.
“The Sandy.” Suddenly, her eyes glaze over. “Listen, it was nice meeting you,” she says quickly, turning to go. “Thanks for your help with the bag. I’ve got to go to the restroom. Enjoy your stay!” As she’s saying this, she’s moving away, her words floating back to me over her shoulder. By the time I get a chance to respond, already she’s halfway down the terminal.
I watch her go, feeling I know not what and wondering what the hell just happened. What was going on inside that woman’s head?
Just as Becca reaches the bathroom, she turns back to look at me, tears shining in her eyes. I’m still standing in the exact same spot she left me in, my head cocked to one side. Smiling a sad, wistful smile, she lingers only a moment before disappearing through the bathroom door.
I stand there for another minute or so, awash in feelings I’ve never experienced and therefore can’t name. Finally, hiking my bag higher onto my shoulder, I turn and, with a sigh, set off towards baggage claim.
Too bad I probably wouldn’t ever see her again.