41
Alina
Climbing into the plane’s cramped cabin, I suck in a deep breath. I square my shoulders, knowing what I have to do. It’s time to face the music. I know my mission, and I’ve come prepared to win. The prize is much too great to let it slip from my fingers because I think I’m too weak to fight. I’m not that girl, not anymore.
Walking up the aisle, I stop beside seats 12A and B. I steel my nerves, look down at a caught off guard Slater, and ask, “Is this seat taken?”
“You know it is, baby. Come sit down with me,” Slater says, half-standing to let me pass, the feel of his strong body comforting as I slide past him into my usual window seat, a seat I’m grateful he left empty for me.
Stowing my bag under the seat in front of me and buckling myself in, I turn and face Slater, taking a moment to stare. How the hell did I get so lucky? How is this man still here, waiting for me?
“I owe you an apology first, then second, an explanation,” I say. “I’m not sure this hour-and-a-half long flight from Vancouver to Edmonton is enough time, but I’ll try as best as I can. I won’t promise that I’m ready to share everything, but I’m ready to share a few pieces.”
“I’ll take all I can get. I’m happy you’re sitting here with me, more than anything. I’ve been so worried, Ali. Been crawling outta my skin.”
“I know, Slater, and I’m sorry. Sometimes I have a one-track mind, and I don’t think of how my issues affect those I care about. I want to thank you for sending Roxie to check on me. It was really sweet. And she helped a lot,” I tell him truthfully.
“I panicked. I hated leaving you. I left then went and knocked on Roxie’s door,” he admits, looking unsure. “I asked her to make sure you were all right.”
“I know. She told me when she came over. Going forward, I plan on trying harder to open up rather than shutting down,” I promise, reaching for his hand and interlacing his fingers with mine.
Not long after Slater had left my hotel room that morning, I’d collected the items from my thrown self-soothe box, and carried them to the bed. I sat there going through them, crying and pissed at myself for reacting to Slater the way I had. I was embarrassed, and worried I’d pushed him far enough away that he might not ever come back. I’d barely heard the soft knock at my door over my own sobs.
Slipping off the bed and peering through the peephole, I was so relieved to see Roxie. Swinging the door open, I let myself lean into her open arms. I start crying a little harder, and started to ramble on about all the hows: how I broke my box, how this time I’d probably lost Slater for good, how I didn’t think I could do this anymore, how the stress was getting to me, and how pissed I was at myself for acting like this.
Once getting me back inside, Roxie and I lay on my bed for what felt like forever, and I talked and talked. I confessed to her how Slater touching me wasn’t what had set me off, rather it was the fear of disappointing him. How I was worried he’d feel too much fat, that he’d see what I looked like and compare me to girls like Sasha, who were skinny, gorgeous, and exactly the type of woman a man like him deserved.
After I’d apologized for being such a burden, it was Roxie’s turn to talk, and she went off. She pretty much called me out on my bullshit. She said she was pissed off at me for ever doubting her or the other girls, and assuring me that they would never see me like that, reminding me over and over that this is what good friends do. She also seemed pretty convinced that there will be many times in our lives when she and the others will need me and my kindness in return, just as much as I need them now. I told her I’d be there in a heartbeat if ever any one of them ever needed me. Roxie nodded, admitting she had no doubt, and how I was a really good friend, too.
Once she was done, we ordered room service. While sharing a cheese pizza and a laugh, we agreed it was time for me to talk to Slater.
And now, I am.
“I hate myself,” I blurt, but quickly correct that, staring intently at the back of the airplane seat in front of me. “I mean, I used to hate myself. I’m working on learning to love myself. I’m getting there, but it’s a slow process. It’s taken me almost two years, and here I am, still falling apart…” I start. Slater simply nods, urging me to go on. “I didn’t have a good childhood…at all. I’m not ready to get into it right now. One day I will. Anyway…” I say. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, wishing so much that I was brave enough to use the hair tie that always sits on my wrist. I am waiting for the day when I can finally tie my hair up and back and let my face be seen, wishing I could will myself to just let Slater see the me I always try so hard to keep hidden.
I continue. “When I was thirteen, things were really bad. I wanted to feel numb. I wanted some power and control over my body and over my mind, so I did something about it. I turned to food. I ate, and eating turned to guilt, which led to a cycle…and I began to self destruct.” I know I’m being vague, but I hope he will infer my meaning, because I’m not ready to say it out loud to him. Not yet.
“Alina,” Slater says so softly, squeezing my hand more tightly.
“I didn’t mean for it to consume me. I hated what I saw when I looked at myself.” I pause. “It’s a feeling I still get. I try not to look, then yesterday…your hand. I didn’t want you to feel what I see. I didn’t want you to change your mind about me because you felt and saw what lies beneath my clothes. I tried to move to sleep on the love seat, but you wouldn’t have it and kept holding me even closer. It’s my fault. I should have fought you harder, maybe. But for the first time in my life, I wanted to feel something other than the emptiness. I craved the feel of you beside me, I wanted to be in your cocoon. Even though I freaked, I still wanted it so, so bad,” I tell him honestly, resting my head on his broad shoulder.
“Fuck me,” he says. “Sweetheart…it hurts to hear this. I know you might not hear me when I say this, but I mean it, and I plan to help you realize it. To me, you’re beautiful, inside and out. I loved waking up with you in my arms, and I’m telling you right now, I know deep down that you liked it, too. I vow here and now to take baby steps with you to get us there,” Slater says, kissing my cheek. For a few minutes, we sit, our heads touching and our fingers entwined, letting our new reality sink in.
“So, tell me about the box,” Slater says.
“It’s my self-soothe box…or it was. It holds things, different things that make me feel good. A picture of my brother Lucky and me. A few Post-it notes listing things I love, reasons to fight. A few poems and quotes, an essential oil rollerball—stuff like that. I have a few of those boxes in different places: at work, in my purse, in my bedroom. I pull them out when I feel myself slipping. It helps calm me down. Gives me purpose again.” I still can’t believe I smashed one. That was a new low. “Speaking of which, I’ll have to stop somewhere and find another box. Right now, everything’s in a Ziploc bag. That doesn’t feel right for things I cherish and rely on so much, to be tossed around so haphazardly in plastic, you know?” I shrug.
“I figured as much.” I feel him shifting beside me, reaching under the seat in front of him. Sitting up, I give him the room he needs to get whatever he’s looking for out of his bag. His earbuds, no doubt.
“I’m sorry I’ve been babbling on,” I say. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
He sits back up, his right hand hanging beside him in the aisle, concealing something. “Are you kidding me? No way, I’m loving this. I want us to talk, always. I just want to give you something. I went to this really cool store after Googling it last night, and asked the owner to help me out, and I bought this for you.” Slater smiles, a little unsure, and hands me a smallish, dark blue, black and silver wooden box. My breath catches when my eyes land on the box’s lid.
“Slater. Oh my god. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect.”
“Like you.” Slater rubs his thumb along my cheek. “And, one day, I’m going to kiss the hell out of you, Alina.”
“One day really soon, I’m going to let you,” I giggle, resting my head back on his shoulder. I run my fingers over the etched-in lines carved along the box’s face, lines which match the ones on my inner wrist and form Cygnus. The silver stars dotting the constellation on the box top twinkle invitingly in the sunlight coming through the window. And for the first time, I start to feel like the swan Cygnus represents, rather than the ugly duckling I’d convinced myself I was for so long.
“Thank you again, Slater, so much.”
“No, Ali, thank you for trusting me. I’ll never take it for granted,” he says, kissing the top of my head. We sit in comfortable silence for the rest of the flight.
It wasn’t until I was alone in my room hours later that I opened the box, and found Slater’s ticket stub from our day at the space centre, along with a folded note that read:
To remind you of the day you gave me a chance to be more.
Slater