Two Feet Off The Ground Read online

  The man helped me over to a chair that I managed not to destroy. “Let me get you some water,” he said and ran off.

  I stared at the drops of blood on my jeans. Paula didn’t want me to find her. No note. No email. No call from her new cell. Just a frayed phone line.

  I searched my contact list for Chuck. I’d beg him to hand over her number.

  I called him. And when his phone beeped and told me he had disconnected too, my stomach wretched into a tight ball. I bent forward, swallowing fast and hard to keep the bile down. But it rose faster than I could swallow and I threw up. I lost it, right there on the sidewalk, on my boots. Even the compassionate lady ordering the spiky-haired guy to help swaddle me in a tablecloth backed away, sickened and pale.

  Maybe I could persuade Aziza to call Amber for me.

  Yes. Aziza would call her. She would know just how to ask for the number so Amber would actually hand it over to her. Hopefully Amber had given me the correct number back in D.C.

  I called Aziza. She didn’t answer this time.

  I stole a glance at my watch. The countdown to Paula’s flight had begun. Time was running out. I needed to call her. To talk to her. To see her one last time.

  Screw it. I’d call Amber myself. I’d be quick, to the point. Eat the frog. Eat the frog. In those first two rings, I promised God that if Amber answered, I’d donate half my shoe collection to the Veterans’ Shoe Drive that year.

  “Hello,” Amber said.

  Okay maybe not half. Maybe a quarter of my shoes, but only the ones from last season. “Amber?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank God!” I smiled. Damn it, my cheek hurt. “Listen I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Who is this?”

  I padded my cheek with the bloody napkin and winced. “It’s Lauren.”

  An ambulance pulled up alongside the chaos, bleating out one last siren blast before a team of paramedics rushed over to me.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry to call you like this, but I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Ma’am, my name is Mike,” a medic said. “Are you hurt?” He was a handsome man with thinning hair and sharp hazel eyes, and a dimple set on his chin.

  I nodded him off and continued. “Amber, it’s really important that I get in touch with Paula. Both she and Chuck disconnected their phones. Do you have their new numbers?”

  The medic wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

  Silence.

  My arm shrunk under the pressure.

  “Chuck broke it off with me two days ago,” she said with a voice that sounded much too small and feeble to be hers.

  “He did?” I managed a smile. “So, you don’t have his number, either?”

  “Obviously not.”

  The medic pumped the cuff and released it slowly, watching the dial.

  I sighed. “So, he broke up with you and decided to disconnect his phone?” “He decided to move to California with Paula. I’m guessing they got new calling plans and didn’t want us bothering them.”

  Me and Amber were kindred spirits. How fitting.

  “Ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions,” the medic said.

  I nodded to the guy. “Amber, I have to go.” Before I hung up, I decided to add, “I’m really sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said with a sincerity that reached out and tugged a little.

  I ended the call and laid my head back against the gurney, paralyzed by a new fear.

  What if I could never find Paula again?

  * *

  With a fresh line of stitches running across my cheek, I barged into the wax room at Bella. Aziza was slumped over Gretchen Hoskins’ eyes, plucking away at her Godzilla brows. “You have a sec?” I asked her.

  She waved me off, not even looking up. “Not now. I’m running really late.”

  I couldn’t wait. I needed her now. I needed to hear her soothing voice, her words of wisdom, her direction. “I’m in crisis mode.”

  Aziza sighed. A dramatic, give-me-a-break sigh. “You’re always in crisis mode.” She combed Gretchen’s brows.

  Gretchen stretched her eyes up at me and offered a half smile. “Eww, what happened to your face?”

  Aziza whipped around to look at me and shot off the stool. “Oh my God. What happened? And what the hell is with your hair?”

  “None of that’s important right now,” I said. “I really need to talk to you.”

  “How many stitches are there?” She counted. “Twelve? Did you get in a fight with that bitch at the supply shop?”

  I shook my head and sat on the stool. “She’s leaving in three hours and I can’t reach her. I can’t reach Chuck, either. They’ve disconnected their phones already.”

  “Really? Disconnected?”

  I broke out into full blubber. “Is she that pissed at me?”

  She hugged me, and Gretchen just laid there watching our drama unfold before her like a passive television viewer.

  I cried into her shoulder. “She hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Aziza said.

  “She used to admire me.”

  “She still admires you.”

  “Then why did she shut me out of her life?” I asked, sniffing back tears.

  “Baby, you shut her out.”

  A fresh cascade of tears poured out of me. She was right. I wanted Paula to say no to the job, not just because I didn’t want her leaving me, but because I wanted her to scoop up that scared little girl inside me and tell me it was okay for me to be afraid. I craved what I’d always been so used to receiving. No one ever made me face my fears before. I resented her for that in a way. But, loved her more for it at the same time.

  “What should I do?”

  “You need to figure this out on your own.”

  I cried like a two-year-old pitching a fit after my mother just yanked my favorite doll out of my hands. “Please tell me. I need you to tell me that to do.”

  She just hugged me tighter. “Not this time.”

  * *

  I left Bella’s and the security of Aziza’s arms, and headed straight to my condo, charged with superhuman adrenaline. I didn’t need Aziza to knock me over the head with the great answer to it all. There was only one way out of this whole mess.

  Up.

  I ran through my front door and called for Owen, then continued toward the desk in the office. I rummaged through the top drawer and dug out our airline tickets. Our flight took off in two hours.

  “Owen,” I hollered. “Did you hear me?” I knocked on his door then opened it to find him curled up in front of his television with a headset on. I shook him by his shoulders, and he screamed.

  “Mom, I told you not to do that anymore!” He turned towards me and gasped when his eyes landed on my stitches. “What happened to your face?”

  “We don’t have time to get into it right now.” I plowed over his sneakers and a plate littered with pizza crusts and reached for the backpack hanging over the edge of his bedpost. I tossed it at him. “Get packed.”

  His face lit up. He hopped to his feet. “Are you serious?”

  “Get packed before I change my mind.”

  He charged around his room flinging underwear, t-shirts and bathing suits into his bag, releasing little pig squeals. “What about all of our stuff? How will we get it there?”

  “That’s what Auntie Aziza is for. She’ll ship it out to us when we tell her to.”

  I flew to my bedroom and prepared a carry-on bag, too, and within five minutes, the two of us landed in the front seats of the car, panting like two rabid dogs who just escaped our death cages.

  Flying on auto-pilot, I weaved in and out of traffic. I managed to hit every red light and when they’d turn green, I’d spin my tires and accelerate like I was sky-rocketing my son to the moon. We passed a sign that told us we had five miles to go. “We’re going to make it in time,” I said to Owen who bounced his knees up and down like he ha
d to pee really badly.

  Then, to my horror, we rounded the bend and as far as my eyes could see, there was a sea of brake lights. Cars snaked the interstate, crawling, inching forward ever so slightly.

  “Call Coach and tell her, Mom. Tell her we’re on our way. Maybe she can make them stop the plane for us?”

  I would’ve if that were still possible. “We’ll make it.”

  Horns honked. People stood outside their cars. One man jumped on his hood, craning his neck at the red-lined horizon. More people gathered outside their cars. Someone walked by my car cursing, muttering something to someone else about a tractor trailer dumping thousands of cases of sugar up ahead.

  “Un-freaking-believable.” I punched the steering wheel. “We’re never going to make it now.” I gripped the wheel until my hands turned white.

  “Call her, Mom.”

  “I can’t call her.” I snapped at him then softened my voice. “She disconnected her phone.”

  Owen dropped his face and shoulders and just let them hang like a lumpy sack of potatoes over his legs.

  “Let’s not give up,” I said. “We still have time.”

  * *

  Surely the airlines have held planes for people before. The gate couldn’t be too far out of our reach. I ran up to the ticket counter, breathless from our jaunt across the short-term parking lot. “Excuse me, sir.”

  A man with glasses punching a keyboard looked up at me and smiled. “Hello, ma’am. How may I help you?” His smile spilled onto his face and didn’t move.

  “We’re running late for our flight and I was wondering if there was any way we could ask the pilot to hold the plane for us?”

  “Do you have your tickets?”

  I threw them at him, pointing my eyes at his hands, willing them to move quicker.

  “Oh, this flight is taking off in ten minutes. You’ll never make it to the gate on time. They’ve probably already filled your seats with standby passengers.”

  “Well, can’t you call someone and tell them we’re here?”

  “Even if your seats are still free, the chances of you getting through that long security line in any less than thirty minutes would require a miracle. Sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I shook my head unable to comprehend this man’s lack of human compassion. Couldn’t he see that my life hung in the balance? “There was a traffic jam. Sugar spilled all over the roadway. We couldn’t move.”

  “It doesn’t matter, ma’am. I can’t hold up a full plane for you.”

  “Then can you get a message to one of the passengers for me?”

  “I could try to call the gate and ask them to relay it to the flight attendants.” His face softened into a natural smile. He picked up the phone and dialed. He lowered his eyes. He tapped his fingers. He waited. His twisted his mouth to the side. He hung up. “No one’s answering.”

  I dropped my head in defeat.

  “We could try and get you on the next flight if you’d like that?” he said.

  That’d be great except I’d have no way of telling Paula I was actually in California. “It’s no use if I can’t get a message to the passenger.”

  “Well, there is one other thing we could try.” He tapped his fingers on the keyboard. “Let me try and send them an instant message. What do you want to say?”

  “Tell Paula McKenna that Owen and Lauren are here and will miss the flight. We’re taking the next one. Tell her I’m ready to pay back my bet from the Brown quad and take on that marketing class now.” I nodded to Owen who grinned. “Oh, and add that I’m not even nervous, yet.”

  I felt Owen pat my back.

  “It’s worth a shot,” he said, typing away.

  “So when’s the next available flight for us?” I asked, blinking away the sudden panic that began to swell.

  “Let’s see.” The man scrolled. “I have one taking off in three hours.”

  “Three hours?”

  “It’s nonstop.”

  “No. You don’t understand. Three hours isn’t going to work.”

  I needed to do this now.

  “Well, there is one taking off in forty-five minutes. You should be able to get through security and down there in time. Coach is filled, though. First class is wide open.”

  “Okay, first class then. Whatever.” I pulled out my wallet.

  “Ma’am, the cost is four times that of a coach ticket.”

  Owen tugged at my shirt. “I’ll mow lawns, mom. I’ll clean pools. I’ll walk dogs. I don’t care what it costs.” I handed him my credit card. If we had to eat Ramen noodles for a year, then we would.

  Within two minutes, he handed us our first class tickets, and we sprinted to security. My throat knotted up like a pretzel, and my heart throttled, but I took off my sandals, laid my bag on the conveyor belt and walked through the scanning machine, shaking on the verge of convulsions, but still walked through nonetheless.

  * *

  The only way I could get through the security checkpoint with my wits somewhat intact was to play out my reunion with Paula over and over again. I imagined the message got through to her in time. Then, I pictured her walking towards us with a big, goofy grin on her face. She’d be waiting for them at our gate in California with an armful of Hershey bars, ready to welcome us to our new home. We’d throw ourselves at each other and make out in front of anyone who dared watch.

  Instead, when me and Owen approached the gate, we looked out over what appeared to be an indoor campground of scattered luggage, business men curled up on the carpet, children weaving through mazes of connected chairs.

  As we got closer, I noticed that the people wore long faces, painted with irritation and hostility. Couples snapped at each other. Kids whined.

  I looked up at the board next to the gate. This was Paula’s plane. It hadn’t taken off yet. The gate worker spoke into the microphone. “We just need a few more volunteers to take another flight and we’ll be able to leave.”

  I scanned the three lines, desperately searching for her. I tapped an older lady’s shoulder. “Excuse me, Ma’am, what’s going on?”

  “Our plane is too heavy. They spent all this time boarding us, then moving us off the plane, then weighing the plane. Apparently they need some people to give up their seats before we can take off.”

  “Mom, what’s going on?” Owen asked.

  “Honey, this is Coach’s plane,” I said beaming. “It’s still here.”

  His face beamed like he had swallowed the sun.

  “Do you see her?” he asked as he continued to search the crowd.

  Just then, the gate worker spoke again. “Okay, we’ve got a family willing to give up their seats, so it looks like we’ll be able to start boarding.” The crowd cheered. “Please have your ticket stubs ready to show me.”

  The first line started to move.

  What happened next stopped me dead.

  “There she is,” Owen said, pointing to the back of the first line.

  Sure enough, I stared right at the back of her head. Her hair was freshly cut, which stung me for a second.

  Owen lunged forward, then, what we both saw, struck us down faster than lightning. Paula wrapped her arms around a woman and hugged her. I recognized her from that night in the bar when she sang. She was pretty and had this wild, wavy strawberry blonde hair. Her tight shirt pushed her boobs together like a couple of plump cantaloupes. All of a sudden visions of Paula shaking her face in between them popped into my mind, wrestling any of the faith I had in Paula right out of my heart. Less than two weeks and she already latched onto someone else, invited her to move to California, and forgot about me and Owen just like that?

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  I bit her lip to ease the blow. I had messed it up for myself. My stupid fear. My selfish little stupid fear had fucked up both our lives.

  I stood and watched the made-up whore follow Paula past the gate worker and down the ramp, laughing and carrying on like a couple of giddy teens en route to a homecomi
ng dance. If Owen hadn’t dragged me away, I’d have hit someone, anyone, just to get rid of the pain strangling me. He led me back down the concourse towards security checkpoint, holding my hand the whole time, squeezing it when I sniffed or coughed away a cry.

  “Let’s go home, Mom.”

  How many more times could I disappoint this boy?

  Before we crossed the point of no return, I pulled him back. “Wait.”

  “Mom, she’s moved on.” He rolled his head side to side as if trying to sway me to get the hell out of the place before I made an even bigger fool of myself.

  In his twelve years, Owen had never left the east coast. Washington D.C. was the furthest he’d ever ventured. My fear ruined his life, too. I grounded him to a life he didn’t deserve. No more. No more pity from him. No more giving into this fear. No more keeping my two feet on the ground safe in a place I didn’t want to be safe in.

  I pulled him back towards our gate. “We’re going to California. You’re going parasailing. You’re going scuba diving. And we’re going first class.”

  “Mom, you don’t have to do this for me.”

  I stopped and looked right into his eyes. “I’m doing this for me, too.”

  We ran for our flight, which would leave shortly after Paula’s. We ran so fast I doubted my feet hit the carpet. My bag waved behind along with my loose waves and giggles. I outran my fear, my sadness, my regrets and hoped what I’d find on the other side of that flight would somehow heal my wounded soul.

  * *

  I would have no big airport moment where Paula would scoop me up in her arms and profess her undying love for me. Instead, I faced a dreadful six hour flight to the west coast alone with sad thoughts circling around my head. I wouldn’t be moving 2,800 miles away. I’d return to Rhode Island, to my condo, to Bella, to all I knew.

  When we boarded, I let Owen take my window seat. I plunked down in the over-sized leather seat disappointed, defeated. We watched the passengers pile on. No one looked panicked or scared, just nonplussed, bored even. I braced for the panic to set in. But the only thing that survived the burning sight of Paula a few minutes ago was a numbness that enveloped my body’s sensors. Crashing would be more humane at that point, maybe even a relief. I shook my head at the irony.