Chapter Thirty-One Claire
Chapter Thirty-One
Claire
Flight is romance—not in the sense of sexual attraction, but as an experience that enriches life.
—STEPHEN COONTS
When the captain plans to rent a car and drive to Glacier Point from Fresno to watch the sunset after an early morning of flying, I’m the only one who agrees to go.
It’s my first trip after the breakup. I’m still a little numb, and I could use a mountaintop moment to reflect.
Plus, after seeing Half Dome from the sky with Nathan and discussing my missed chance to climb it, there’s no way I’m missing it now.
Cap is nice, but he never stops talking long enough to have a conversation. At one point he takes a breath, and I’m able to say, “My brothers hiked Half Dome, but they left me behind since I’m twenty years younger than they are and a kid at the time.”
He totally misses the personal information and goes off about how the chains have already been removed for winter so nobody can climb to the top of Half Dome right now anyway, and we’re lucky Glacier Point hasn’t been closed yet due to snow.
He regales me with stories like he’s Sparrow on speed. If I were returning home to my old crash pad, I’d take back some of these facts for her. Since I’m not, I tune out in favor of watching the stunning scenery.
We stop in Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias, which I remember from childhood. Teresa and I had our picture taken underneath the tunnel tree. Cap and I do not. I consider asking him to snap my photo, but he doesn’t stop talking long enough to give me a chance. Back into the Ford Focus we go.
I find peace in the majestic views of the valley below and snow-covered peaks above as we round hairpin turns ascending steep cliffs.
We finally make it to the deserted parking lot—a perk of visiting in the offseason.
I can’t see anything because we’re surrounded by pine trees, but there’s a pathway that leads to the viewpoint.
After climbing out of the vehicle and bundling up for a chill cold enough to sustain snow once it falls, the captain heads toward the restrooms, still talking.
“Hey, Cap,” I interrupt, pulling my phone from my coat pocket to use as an exhibit for needing time alone. “I’m going to go take pics.”
He nods and waves.
I turn toward the pathway and am surrounded with silence as comforting as a quilt.
I follow the trail lined with a split-rail fence.
The forest parts to reveal a grander view.
Slate peaks are separated by deep pockets of trees and streaked with rivers and waterfalls.
It’s all displayed before the backdrop of a setting sun.
And right at the center stands Half Dome. Majestic. Unparalleled.
I tromp down a few steps to stand in awe at the viewing platform, too immersed to take photos. Not that any camera could capture the moment. The best part of art is its experience.
A golden glow sinks behind the mighty rock, coloring wispy clouds pink. The turquoise sky deepens to violet. I watch the same way I watched my first ballet. It’s the most beautiful performance I’ve ever seen. And I have to join in. My walking boot came off just for this.
I can’t leap the way I did at Manitou Incline, but a grand jeté doesn’t compare to the grandeur of my surroundings. I slide my heels together and extend my arms so that my fingertips almost touch. I breathe deeply and smile for my audience of One. This is all I’ve ever needed.
The wind brushes cold against my skin, and I let my body sway like tree branches, arms reaching side to side. The simplicity fills me. My motions grow larger. I add a step. A leg lift. A pirouette.
I’m moved by the melody of my heart. My sneakers tap and scuff concrete as I sashay, dip, and twirl. I become an extension of the breeze that first inspired me. My breathing grows heavy to rush out with it. My pulse comes alive.
I’d been afraid dancing again would leave me feeling disappointed, but this is freedom. There’s no choreography. No instructor. No critique.
I’m filled with the joy of putting on my first tutu, or my “tooting dress,” as Mom says I called it. Angel may burp a lot, but I wore tooting dresses professionally.
I laugh. It’s a surprising interruption of the silence, but it floats away as I circle the paved viewing platform. For my finale, I return to center stage, open my arms, and arch back to take in as much of this moment as possible.
I close my eyes, and tears slip out. They draw chilly lines down my cheeks to my chin and even wet my neck.
But these are tears of gratitude. When I lost my ability to dance en pointe, I thought all I had left was Wyatt.
But God had something so much better planned for me, just as my birthday Scripture promised.
God has given me a future and a hope.
Babies are crying, a toddler keeps pressing his Call button to create a repetitive dinging sound, and the man right in front of me is trying to fit his oversized bag into bin space much too small. Yet I’m unfazed. It’s go-home day, and I’m taking my newfound peace with me.
It’s crazy how much peace comes from finally letting go of what I’d thought I wanted. I’m sad, but I’m also okay.
I hang out casually in the aft galley, watching the commotion with hands in my pockets.
While the aft galley once overwhelmed me with its multiple layers of carts and bins, I now enjoy it for the simplicity of boarding as compared to the complexity of working as the forward flight attendant.
All the work of serving predeparture drinks, communicating with the gate agent, and tagging oversized bags falls on them.
I mean, I try saying things like, “Sir, that won’t fit there.” But the passenger just looks at me once and continues shoving.
So I chill, waiting for him to admit I’m right. I know some flight attendants prefer to direct luggage the way a cop directs traffic, but it all gets where it’s supposed to go in the end, so there’s no need for added stress.
“Sir, that won’t fit there,” a male voice says. A deep, respectful, and familiar voice.
I can’t see who’s speaking from the other side of our determined passenger, but I’ve got the feeling he’s wearing a black sweater with gold bars on the shoulders. We are, after all, heading to Seattle.
My heart smiles, if that’s a thing.
The passenger finally drops his bag to the ground and turns on me as if it’s my fault. “My suitcase doesn’t fit.”
Ya think? “Come on back here to get out of the way. Once the aisle clears, you can take your bag up front, and we’ll check it for you.”
I scoot to the side and wait for him to squeeze into the galley beside me so I can finally see the man behind him. Just as I thought. Nathan arches one perfect eyebrow.
I throw my hands in the air. It’s good to see him, but it’s also ironic. “Of course you’re on this flight.”
He lifts his suitcase to fit snugly inside the bin space the last passenger had abandoned. “What do you mean by that?”
I lean into the galley entrance. “I visited Half Dome yesterday, and it made me think of you.” Really, he’s the reason I visited in the first place. Though he probably never imagined I would dance the way I did.
He drops his arms and steps closer. His seat must be in this last row too. “You climbed it?” he asks with a lilt of pride in his tone.
“Well, no. They’d taken down the cables for winter.”
“That’s right.”
“But I saw the most incredible sunset from Glacier Point.”
“You’ve had a lot of new experiences this year.” Again, he says this proudly.
My mind replays all that’s happened in the two months since we met. Nathan gave me self-defense lessons, but now I’m serving those same people I’d once thought I’d have to fight. I’ve moved from living out of fear to living out of love—in more ways than one.
But there’s also my new career, new places visited, new friends. And I’d consider Nathan right up there with my roommates.
I should take a selfie with him too. He’d probably appreciate a photo in which he’s not wearing sunglasses with hearts on the lenses.
I pull out my phone and tap the Camera icon. “Are you deadheading?”
“Yeah. They had me reposition a plane down here.”
“Nice.”
I worked a repo flight once. It was even easier than a deadhead, since the other flight attendant and I were the only passengers.
Our captain had propped the flight deck door open with a seat cushion so we could converse with him and the first officer from our spots in first class.
It was like chartering our own private jet.
A little more bougie than having to sit in the very back row by the lav.
“It’s a nice surprise to see you again,” he offers.
“Agreed.” I lift my phone and angle my face next to his to take a selfie. “Smile.”
He’s got a great smile. Friendly. Kind. A guy-next-door kind of grin. And we did used to live on the same street. Since I’m not moving in with Wyatt, maybe I should consider moving back to Seattle.
“You going to send it to me?” Nathan asks.
I turn from our image on the screen to grin up at him, and he’s closer than I expected. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s intimate enough that it should be.
My heart gives an extra-strong thump, as if in warning. My head reasons that we are cramped inside a plane. That’s all.
Just to be safe, I step backward into the galley so I’m closer to Mr. Oversized Bags. And rather than text Nathan directly, I’ll post the picture to his social media. That’s less personal.
Yes, things with Wyatt are over, but I’m still healing. Growing. Not that Nathan’s even attracted to me.
I give him the side-eye out of curiosity and find him still watching. Oh. I haven’t answered his question yet. “Y-yes,” I stammer. “I mean, I’ll share it on your Instagram.”
That was smooth.