This short ditty was written at 2:00 in the morning. It's based loosely off of the song "Plane" by Jason Mraz. If you have never heard it, try to. It's beautiful. Enjoy.

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The airport terminal had a strange smell—like coffee and bodies—that drove Emile crazy. The whole airport smelled like tired people and crying children, too much Starbucks coffee and, faintly, the smell of hamburgers in the distance. But the most overpowering stench of all was the one of sorrow. Although not all the partings in the airport were sad, there were a number of them, and their smell (like ocean spray and skin) trampled the others. Emile imagined he too was emanating that smell.

At security checks, men from the TSA had frisked him with a wand and subjected his bag to a search, and the whole time he had stood with his lower lip tucked beneath his teeth, biting back tears as he glanced over heads and voices to see the entrance of the airport. No one stood there but strangers. He didn’t know what he’d expected. No one had come with him to the airport to see him off, not even driven him.

Outside, the sun was rising and tinging the clouds flimsy, pastel colors. He sat in front of a wall of windows, gazing at the tarmac with a feeling of loneliness and dread. He checked his phone, but there were no calls. Well, no surprise, he assumed. They were all asleep, everyone. He had left early so they wouldn’t see him off… or maybe to avoid seeing them all before he left. He wasn’t entirely too sure.

He was on the commuter plane in no time, a plane he lovingly called a “puddlejumper” because of its size. It was far from full, so empty that he had a row of seats to himself, and he sat close to the window and gazed out, imagining that if he squinted, he could see the house and all its occupants on the lawn, scanning the skies looking in plane windows for his face. He waved out the window, hoping to see anyone wave back, but they were high off the ground, so that people were not visible and cars looked like children’s toys. He pretended to pick up SUVs and sedans and Slugbugs, tipping all those tiny little people out on his tray table and watching them sit there, lifeless little plastic toys in his lap.

He wanted nothing more than to feel a pull at his navel, and hear shrieks as the plane, tossing and reeling in a wind like a doll, tumbled to the ground. He wanted to feel that rush, pure adrenaline, and the fear, all of it, just to confirm that along with remorse, he could feel fear. It seemed that suddenly he had lost the capability to feel anything but sadness. But he still clung, like a drowning man on a life preserver, to the love that they had given him, their final gift to him. He missed them already, and the plane sailed smoothly and all he felt was disappointed.

Two hours later, the plane landed and he navigated through the familiar airport to baggage claim. Around him, people reunited with family members and friends, or stood expecting no one, or sluggishly retrieved their luggage and shuffled away to the sidewalk and busy highway outside. Emile pulled out his cellphone, but still no messages. Maybe they hadn’t even noticed he was gone, but he preferred to think they were so overcome with grief over his departure. He searched his phone book until a name, a particular name, was highlighted. For a moment, he debated calling them, telling them where he was, trying to gauge their reaction without even saying anything to them. And then he hit “TALK” and there was no going back.

“Hey, this is Luke! Sorry I didn’t answer the phone. Leave a message and a number and I’ll get back to you. Peace.”

Emile swallowed. “Hey Luke,” he said, then tried to keep his face from crumpling as he said the name. “It’s, uh—it’s me.” He surveyed his surroundings, took a deep breath and sat down in one of the chairs placed around the edge of the baggage claim. “I landed.” Then he was at a loss for words. He sat, connected to a machine, trying to figure out what to say next. “I’m sorry I left so early. I had urgent business to attend to.” He had always been a compulsive liar. Maybe lying was an inherited gene, recessive in nature, and only certain people were affected.

Again, he drew blanks for what to say next. After a long, empty pause, he finally said, “I miss you already, Luke. I wish you would answer the phone or call me. Let me know something. We didn’t part on good terms last night, and I was hoping you’d call but, um… that wasn’t the case, apparently. I know I said I’d try to visit often, but...” he trailed off. What else was there to say?

“Call me,” he said, closing the message. “Just… if not for yourself, then for me. I need you to settle my mind, okay?” and then he hesitated. How to end the message? It had to be noncommittal and casual, just like Luke. “Seeya,” he concluded, and, after looking at the connected screen, closed the phone anti-climactically.

When his baggage circled around the carousel, he collected it and headed outside to flag a taxi. As he stood on the edge of the sidewalk with his hand outstretched, he stared up at the sky and saw a plane take off, and wondered how many people were in this situation with him, having to move so suddenly, with little warning. He wondered how many of them wanted to make the plane crash and escape and run, run away and back into warm, loving arms and know that there were more emotions out there, more feelings than tears on his face.

Finally, a yellow cab pulled up. He recited the address of his new home and they were off, and he searched the sky for planes, for Luke, for them… His family, and then Luke. He had hoped to see something but the sky was too big and blue, and he lost himself in it.

Only a day before he left, forever, had they touched, Luke and Emile, like lovers. It had been soft and delicate and innocent, oblivious to the knowledge of Emile’s departure. The next night, as they lay in Luke’s bed, Emile told him he was leaving, and it hadn’t gone over well. The details could be overlooked, but the argument that followed couldn’t. Luke had screamed until his throat was raw and his eyes were so desperate that even tears couldn’t match the emotion.

When he got to the new house, with a cab charge of $15.75, Emile paused before stepping over the threshold. Oh, he remembered every detail of his old neighborhood, his extended family wishing him well, happy he was being reunited with his parents, fingertips on his eyelids. As he knocked on the door, signaling to his parents that he arrived, he thought, “At least I knew it at all.”