83. Lolly
eighty-three
Lolly
His hand feels so good in mine. His fingers are the perfect size to rest gently between my own. I’m tempted to just stay here, not wanting to lose the connection we just regained.
I force myself to let go, and get out to grab the food and my backpack. I look up to find him turning circles, as if trying to figure out where he is.
“You’ve never been here before, have you?” I ask teasingly.
“Where exactly is here?” He asks, brows raised and mouth twisted in concern.
“You’ll see,” I say as I offer my hand to him.
He takes it with a shake of his head and an unintelligible mumble under his breath.
I smile, unable to deny how much I’ve missed this. I squeeze his hand in mine for a few seconds, hoping he somehow knows what I can’t say.
We crest the hill of the grounds and he drops my hand as he takes in the view.
“The airport?” He asks as he squints to see. “The, like, airport alley?” He says.
I laugh, “That’s one way to describe it.”
“It’s actually public property that becomes airport property right past that fenceline,” I say pointing. “I come here sometimes to clear my head.”
“And those are runways. Like, operational runways?” His eyes widen and his voice squeaks with the question.
“Yep,” I say. “We got here in time to catch the seven o’clock flights.”
He turns to look at me, eyes wide and mouth open like he’s going to say something.
“Mind giving me a hand with this?” I ask, gesturing toward the food and blankets.
“Shit, sorry. I’m just—um,” he pauses, throwing his hand to the back of his neck, “surprised.”
“Here,” I say, handing him a corner of the large blanket.
He takes it from my hand and helps me finish setting everything else up before taking a seat next to me.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, just existing in this moment in time. A strange new weave in our tapestry.
“Thanks for the sushi,” he says. “It’s really fucking good.”
“You’re welcome,” I say with a smile.
“So,” he pauses, “what exactly are we doing here? Besides not spilling soy sauce in your car.”
“Some days, this airport sees ten thousand travelers,” I say. “Ten thousand people with ten thousand experiences.”
His brows raise in surprise.
I laugh at the mouth full of sushi he has, cheeks stuffed full like a chipmunk.
“When I start to feel like I’m the only person going through something, I come here to be reminded that I’m just one person in a sea of human experiences.”
I hear him swallow and turn to look at him. His beautiful face familiar in the best and worst ways.
“That makes sense,” he says. “What kinds of things normally inspire these impromptu airport visits?” His voice is gentle, inquisitive but not at all pushing.
“When the pain of Mom’s suffering becomes too great,” I begin. “Or when the loss of my family is too painful,” I admit.
He doesn’t look away, he watches me. I don’t see pity there, I see understanding—and it’s comfortable.
He looks away so I look to the sky for a while.
He clears his throat, “Lolly?” He says, voice unassured.
“Yeah, green eyes?” I reply, still staring at the clouds.
“I want to know you, too,” he says, voice steady now.
I blink back a sudden rush of tears as I feel him take my hand in his. A small promise, and a big responsibility.
I pull in a deep breath and decide to let him see me. To show him all of me so that going forward, he and I will be on even ground.
“Olani had really bad asthma,” I begin. “One afternoon it got so bad that Mom couldn’t manage it with her inhaler and nebulizers, so Dad loaded us all in the car to get her to the emergency room.
” I focus on the clouds, unfolding and changing slowly before me.
“We only lived a few minutes from Children’s Hospital, so it made more sense to drive her than to call for an ambulance. ”
My stomach turns as I reach for more courage.
“I was in the back with Lani. It had just started raining. I remember Dad putting the hazard lights on. When we were maybe a half a mile from the exit, he lost control of the car. I remember being thrown against the door. Mom was screaming, telling us to hold on. The next thing I remember is hanging sideways in my seat, unable to unfasten my seatbelt. There was smoke—so much smoke. I remember screaming. I kept trying to wake them but no one could hear me.”
I pause, swallowing thickly before I continue. “We were so close.” I shiver. “We crashed on the hospital exit ramp..”
“Lani never made it to the hospital.”
I feel a tight grip squeezing my hand, a warm anchor holding me in place.
“Lolly, I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
“Me too,” I echo. And we sit there. We sit in contemplative silence until the roar of twin engines starts to carry over the runway.
I look at him, those green eyes still the most beautifully intricate eyes I’ve ever seen. “You ready?” I ask.
“I’m ready,” he replies. And we lay back, his hand still in mine, and watch as hundreds of other experiences fly overhead.