“I do love you,” her voice wasn’t sincere.

“Then why not?” My voice was pleading.

“I love you but…”

“But what?” interrupted I, “What else is there?”

“There are other things more important…” her voice was dry, monotone, distant. Her mind on other things.

“More important than love?” I said angrily, “ Listen if you’re answer’s no, then we’re through”

“Its not just that, I still want to be with you….”

“Then why do you say no?”

“…” Silence from her. “I can’t do this anymore.” With a turn, her back was to me, it grew farther away as she neared the door. She grabbed her coat and purse. The white wooden door shut behind her.

The instant she walked out, the lights in my apartment got just a little dimmer, the temperature dropped a touch, both changes so small only I would notice them. The smell of her perfume still lingered, but it would fade away, like all of her other left behind, seemingly-insignificant little traits.

It’s the little things you learn to notice most when you dedicate everything you’ve got to someone, then lose them in a heartbeat. For instance, she had this way of walking around the house… I always knew it was her, even if there were five or six people crammed in the apartment. The way her footfalls sounded; majestic, rhythmic, flowing, she had an inherent grace tied into every aspect of her. As I looked at the closed, white door which she had just stepped through, my mouth agape, eyes filled to the brim, I knew her light footfalls would never again echo off of my apartment walls. These walls had seen so much, so many of our experiences, so many of -my- experiences…even before her, Belle.

--

I’m twenty-seven years old, and I’ve made a decision. In front of me stands a man with his wife, luggage in tow, behind me a noisy family; three kids and two parents. Two tickets are in my left hand, a suitcase in the other, I mean to never return. I can’t remain in this city any longer, too many memories lie here, too many things begging to keep me down. As for my destination, it’s perfect; filled with opportunity and hope, city-like but not too urban, everything where I am now isn’t.

There are Four reasons that I’m in this terminal. Four experiences in my life -in my apartment- in the recent past that are forcing me to get away, far away. These experiences happened within the past four months, one I’ve already described to you, but the first one began…

--

At two in the morning, late winter, in the middle of the week. There was a banging, a loud banging, coming from somewhere outside my bedroom. Was someone in my house? Was I being robbed? I shot up in bed, and thought of the black Louisville Slugger in my closet. How many people are inside? My feet hit the hardwood floor, and again, the banging. Louder and louder, but followed by my name being called

“Answer the door!” muffled, weary, sick, a very non-normal voice, but it was familiar none the less. As I threw on a dark robe and propped the bat behind the door I peered through the peep-hole. It was Paul. He looked terrible. Again. Drunk or high on something, I wasn’t sure which. Probably, I guessed, it was both.

The door swung open and Paul fell forward, stumbling to the ground. I caught him in his descent, his weight fell on me. His hands were warm, his skin sweaty, he was clearly in danger. Out of his hands fell an empty prescription bottle, he looked at me apologetically but not with a little bit of pride. This was an attention thing, I think. Paul had been my friend since college, lived in the apartment across from mine, as well. He had been clinically diagnosed with a severe case of depression and was on several types of medicines. Every year or so something dramatic like this would happen, and it would always be me riding with him in the ambulance to the hospital. And again it was me, calling 9-1-1, calling his closest family and friends. The paramedics arrived, three of them with various life-saving tools and a stretcher. They asked me questions; “how long? How much?” I didn’t know. Sitting next to Paul in the back of the ambulance, I watched my apartment building fade out of sight.

--

"Hey! Come On!" People are yelling.

"Let's go man!" I hear these yells.

"Come on! We've got a plane to catch!" What are these people yelling at? Oh... me.

I move ahead in line, the married couple was giving their tickets to the ticket-taker-lady. She was happy, smiling, as were all the other passengers; happy to get away from their daily routines, happy to go on vacation. Soon it’ll be me getting away from this city, getting away from Belle and my failed attempts at a relationship, away from Paul and his failed attempts at suicide. Am I a coward? I look out the window and see the plane, resting before the flight.

--

“It’s so calm,” I muttered to myself, while looking out of my apartment’s window. The buildings were all beneath me, lit up brightly against the black night sky. I liked my view, at this point I liked the city as well. The phone rang.

“Hello,”

He said my name, in a questioning but pleased tone.

“Dad…” I hate talking to him.

“It’s been a long time-”

“What is this about?” I cut him off, not caring what he had to say.

“Son, listen.”

“You know I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Your mother threw me out again"

“Good.” I was smiling, maybe this time she would leave him for good, but that probably would never happen. No, she always took him back, didn’t matter what he did, I could never understand it. Maybe it was her up bringing, her parents hated each other, but stayed together, didn’t believe in divorce, I guess my mother didn’t either.

“I need to-”

“No.” I cut him off again, he wanted to spend a few nights in my place.

“Look out your window.”

I did. On the street, some twenty-five stories down, I could make out the figure of a middle aged man at a payphone, looking up.

“Goddammit, come up.” I opened the door and waited inside. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, even before he was inside my place. In a few minutes he was on the couch, “so what’s for dinner?” he asked.

I went to bed.

--

I’m looking down at my ticket. Departure in twenty minutes, my hands were sweating, stomach slightly un easy. The airport suddenly seemed brighter, as if someone upped the wattage to the light bulbs, also it seemed warmer, like the same someone turned up the thermostat just a few degrees. No one else seemed to notice… I was never too fond of flying, but I am still very fond of getting away, the list in my mind grows; the city, Belle’s rejection, Paul’s addiction, and my father.

--

“I just don’t think we’re ready,” said Belle, sadly but surely.

“Oh” there went my dreams.

I put the ring away, it felt heavy in my pocket. This is one thing I hadn’t planned on, sure the idea of her saying no had crossed my mind, but I was confident she would accept. So what was I supposed to do? Plead with her? Get up and sit next to her and pretend like nothing had happened?

“But why not Belle?” I pleaded.

“Listen-”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course I do…” she looked down.

“Then why not??”

She was silent for a while, just looked blankly at the wall. I looked at her, holding back more than a few tears. Her purse and coat lay on the couch next to her.

“I do love you,” her voice wasn’t sincere.

“Then why not?” My voice was pleading

“I love you but…”

“But what?” interrupted I, “What else is there.”

“There are other things more important…” her voice was dry, monotone, distant. Her mind on other things.

--

I give the woman my ticket, she smiles “have a good flight”. I’m not so sure that I will. Should I go? Or, should I go back to Belle, plead for her to take me back? No. I’m already walking in that little hallway-connector thing that leads to door of the plane. As I’m walking, the hallway seems to change… something about its atmosphere… I can hear a commotion from behind me, “I’m sorry but you can’t board” says the ticket taking woman to an unruly patron. I don’t bother turning. I’m leaving.

--

Everyday I go for a morning jog outside my apartment and through the park, and everyday there is an old man sitting on a bench feeding pigeons and listening to music through a portable CD player and very large, black headphones. Every day, I rest at the bench sometimes he’ll say ‘hello’, other times I don’t think he even notices me. A few weeks ago, I sat down and he wasn’t wearing headphones. It was a week or so after Belle had said no, and left.

“You come here a lot, Sonny.”

“Yeah…” I nodded, and noticed how nice of a day it was.

“but not lately…”

“No, I’ve been kind of busy, and having some tough times.” I said to him, off handedly.

His tone was inquisitive, “Tough times? Let me guess. Women?”

“You’re a good guesser” I replied.

He threw some seeds to a bird, “What’d she do? Cheat? Lie?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I asked her to marry me,”

“Congratulations-” but I cut him off.

“She said no.” I said, laughing a little.

“Bitch,” he added smiling, “So what are you two going to do?”

“I told her it was marriage or nothing. She wants to stay together, but I’m getting old, I want to have a family,” I was beginning to rant, “I want to be able to say-”

This time it was him who cut me off, “Listen, Sonny,” he sighed, “You ain’t old, not by a long shot. And don’t you worry about your lady troubles, things will get better. If not with her, than with some other girl who is just as special. Things will always be alright in the end, and if things aren’t alright… well then it isn’t the end.”

He got up, his bag of seeds empty, tipping his hat he left the bench and the park. For an hour or two I sat at the bench, thinking about what I should do.

--

“I’m sorry ma’am but you’ll have to leave.” The commotion is louder now, several people in front of me have turned around to see what is going on. I really don’t much care. I only want to leave. Again, it seems like the hallway has gotten a little brighter, a little warmer, yet still no one else seems to notice. The commotion seems to be settling down, I can hear the woman who had made such a commotion walking away. I can hear her heels tapping loudly yet rhythmically, smoothly against the tiled floor. It was odd, it sounded like…

“Belle!” I call, running back to the terminal. There she is! I can see her walking away in the distance, head sunken. “Belle!” This time she turns (She’s turning!) , our eyes meet and she smiles through tears. The ticket taker tries to stop me, but I push past her easily. Belle and I embrace, “please don’t leave me,” says she, “I don’t want to lose my fiancé.”

“Your fiancé?” Her fiancé? What is that supposed to mean? She said no.
“I love you, Jason.”

“Bullshit, you don’t love me.” She doesn’t love me. If she loves me she would have said yes weeks ago.

“No, not bullshit, I love you. I want to marry you!”

“Don’t do this to me, not now god damn it.”

“Do what. What am I doing? Isn’t this what you wanted??”

“No its not what I wanted!,” It wasn’t what I wanted. Or, maybe it was, maybe… just maybe, “I did want it, but not anymore. Now I have to leave.”

“Why!? Why are you leaving, Jason?” Her eyes are still full with tears.

“I have to, I am relied on too much here. I can’t take carrying every one in my whole life anymore.”

“Carry everyone? Who do you carry?”

How the hell can she be asking me this? What right does she have, “What right do you have to ask me this?”

“I have every right in the world! I came down to this air port (two hours out of my way, might I add!) and you won’t even share your reason for leaving with me, because you’re too scared.”

“Fuck you, I’m not too scared,” fuck her, I’m not scared of anything, “you just wouldn’t understand me, or my reasons.”

“ I understand you better than anyone” She does.

“No you don’t. If you understood me, you would understand why it hurt me so much when you said no.”

“I do understand that,” did she? “but why don’t you turn your magnifying glass of criticism around on yourself and realize that you should understand my reasons for saying no!”

“…” hold on, I have to think about that. Her reasons for saying no… well I guess I -

“silence, of course” she wasn’t crying anymore as much as she was yelling, “See you think that every last thing is about you. You don’t worry about anyone else’s needs, or their problems-”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” she has no idea what she is saying, “I take care of my father, my drug addict friends, because they need me.”

“They need you. That’s bullshit and you know it. You take care of them because you want to feel purpose in your life. You work at a dead-end job, you don’t go out, and you feel like you’re absolutely worthless, so you try to take on every other burden of every person you know in order to give your life some meaning. But it doesn’t work that way, all you’re doing is confirming the fact that you’re a fucking phony.”

She’s fucking right, “You’re right… I am.” I turned around, heading towards the plane. I don’t want to talk to her anymore, what does she know? She knows nothing. Shit. She’s pulling on my arm. I turn.

“Don’t. Leave. Me.”

“Why not?”

“Because, un like all of those others, I DO need you.”

I looked in her eyes, then to my ticket. Then to her. Then out the windows to the plane. She is so beautiful. The plane is my ticket to freedom. Or is it? It is. Is it? Maybe… Belle is my ticket to freedom…

Maybe… Plane. Ticket. Belle. Ticket. Belle. Plane. I don’t know what to do, where to go.

Then it hits me.

I know just what I’m going to do.

I look at my ticket. I look at Belle.