Past the Broken Bridges

Chapter Two Sawyer

Chapter Two

Sawyer

Bentley tries escaping the noogie I’m giving him in front of the passenger drop-off section at the airport, but the thirteen-year-old is even weaker than I am, so he can’t fight me off. “Admit it, dork. You’re going to miss me.”

He eventually wiggles his way out, darting under my arm with a laugh. Unlike Mom and me, he’s got Dad’s brown hair. Dark, like the Hershey chocolate he constantly steals from my room. I put an unopened bag in my desk drawer for him that I’m sure won’t take him long to find.

As he tries flattening his hair back down, he rolls the blue eyes that we share. “How could I miss your bad music blasting through your door and your mood swings when it’s that time of…?” His face blossoms with heat as he stops himself from finishing the sentence.

“When it’s what?” I pry, knowing the teen can’t say it.

He loses his courage. “ You know. When you, uh…”

“Bentley,” Mom chides, trying to fight the amusement that clearly wants to curl her lips. “Menstrual cycles are completely natural. It’s fine to say the word ‘period’ without being embarrassed by it. I got them. Your sister gets them. Your future wife will get them.”

I snicker when he turns a deeper shade of red.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles. “Whatever. Let’s stop talking about that in public.”

“Let’s hope you get a growth spurt soon, or that attitude is going to get you pushed into some lockers,” I tell the five-foot-three rat.

“Sawyer!” Mom scolds, shooting me a look.

My brother and I both laugh, causing her to squeeze the bridge of her nose. They’re going to miss me as much as I’m going to miss them. Even if we get on each other’s nerves sometimes.

As excited as I am to land someplace where I don’t need my fluffy down jacket, sadness sweeps over me.

“I should get going,” I tell them, fighting a frown. Most of my things are being shipped to the tiny apartment Dad has outside New Orleans. He has a rental truck waiting to pack it all up and bring it over to the apartment building that my parents helped me secure near the LSU campus. “I have a couple hours before takeoff, but I want to call Dad and make sure he’ll get there on time.”

Mom walks over and gives me the tightest hug I’ve gotten from her in a long time. It reminds me of the one she gave me after we found out about my cancer. I come from a family of huggers, but I’d never been held the way she did that afternoon at the hospital. “Behave yourself down there.”

“I will,” I tell her.

At least I’ll try.

She pulls back, her hands going to my face. I can tell she’s going to cry, which I made her promise not to do. “And if you need anything —”

Her voice cracks, making me groan. I put my hands on top of hers. “I’ll let you know if I need something, but I’ll be okay. It’s college. I’ve got plenty of resources.” When that doesn’t seem to appease her, I add, “Dad isn’t that far from me, and I know you’re a phone call away too.”

The reminder has her gently patting my cheeks before letting go and pushing Bentley over to hug me goodbye.

“Be good for Mom, dork face,” I tell the lanky boy, who reluctantly wraps his noodle arms around me. I’m tempted to mess up his hair again, but I’m nice this time. Pulling away, I eye him. “If I hear you’re bad, I’ll cancel my Netflix subscription so you can’t watch your anime shows anymore.”

He snorts. “I can get my own.”

“With what money?” Mom and I ask simultaneously.

My brother blinks at the response before grumbling, “Fine, I’ll be good. Just go already.”

Mom swats him on the arm at his response, but she rolls her eyes and gives me one more hug before I pick up my carry-on. “Call me as soon as you land, Sawyer. I mean it.”

I’m about to remind her that she can track my location, but I decide against it. I had to show her how to comment on an online post three different times in the last month. Reminding her how to track me isn’t going to be any easier. “I will. Promise. You better head out before the parking police come back and yell at you again.”

She looks to where the man wearing a neon vest is walking over to us. Shoulders dropping, she squeezes my hand and then lets go. I wave to her and my brother, grab my belongings, and head inside, knowing I have to be the one who walks away first.

Mom never will.

That’s why I love her so much.

And the first whiff of the airport smells like a mixture of freedom and anxiety that I’m more than willing to take on if it means doing it my own way this time.

I pull out the crumpled piece of paper from my pocket that I’ve been working on for the past three months. The second I opened my acceptance letter to Louisiana State, I started this list. It’s torn, wrinkled, and smudged, but I can’t help but smile when I strike my pen through the first two items.

Go back to Louisiana

Attend college

Nibbling my lip, I carefully fold the paper back up and tuck it into the side pocket of my backpack just in time for the boarding process to begin.

I stand, a newfound giddiness dancing in the pit of my stomach as I line up with the others in my boarding group.

My eyes go to the clock on the TV screen underneath the boarding details.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

Under my breath, I whisper, “Here I come.”