Prepare for the Landing

Chapter 1:

I am walking onto Flight 182, the stupid airplane. It feels like I am walking into Alcatraz, about to serve my prison sentence. Except I will be getting away from my pain. Maybe I'm being a bit dramatic, it will only be a four hour flight. It wasn't about that though. Usually I would love to go anywhere on a plane, an adventure. This is all about leaving Jason.

My mom and sister thought it would be a good thing for me to be away from Miami. And maybe their hearts were in the right place, but I think sending me to Wyoming was their idea of a twisted form of therapy. Note to mom, I think the therapist would have been cheaper. And easier for all of us.

So back to the mystery contestant, Jason. The love of my life, the ying to my yang, my sunshine, and the idiot that dumped me 28 days, 3 hours, and 15 minutes ago (not that I'm counting) over a lousy text message. Which is the reason why my beloved motorola was crushed to smithereens when I threw it in a fit of rage onto the wall at Starbucks. It's a pretty good way to get thrown out of a coffeeshop, just in case you were wondering.

I found my seat, 13a. Of course I would get lucky number thirteen. The seat is empty beside me and I can't help but wonder if anyone else will occupy it. If anyone does, I am willing to bet I will easily scare them away with the hostile goth look I've got going on. My all-black ensemble was supposed to be a not so subtle hint to my sister and mom, that I am in full on depression mode and that sending me on a plane 14,000 feet above the ground, where I could inevitably fling myself off it somehow, was not an intelligent decision. Too bad they were fully aware I'm not suicidal and I am too much of a wimp to even attempt such a feat.

I'm not usually like this. I used to have the Sunshine state personality that us Floridians are supposed to have programmed into our brains. An eternal optimist, that's what my friends used to call me. Emphasis on the "used to." They sort of undertstand what I'm going through, but don't have a single drop of empathy because nothing like this has ever happened to any of them. It doesn't help that all of their lives are a millimeter rom perfection right now, because in the four days after my break up all of them decided to get boyfriends. I was a good sport and tried going out with the group of them, but being the seventh wheel is no fun at all. The summer started soon after, so i havent seen much of them which gave me plenty of time to lay on my bed and listen to every depressing love song ever recorded, while my mom banged relentlessly on my door begging me to go outside or eat something. About a week ago she finally snapped and took down my door altogether. But I still kept up residence in my room. Until today of course.

I swept my eyes across the plane's interior. It's your average plane; overhead racks, flight attendants, oxygen masks. It even has that plane smell of cough drops, peanuts, and old people. Don't ask me what old people smell like, I can't tell you. There are only seven other passengers on the plane. This does not surprise me, as no one lives in Wyoming because there is nothing minutely interesting there unless you are a farmer or a hermit. My eyes land on my watch that is indicating the plane is scheduled to take off in five minutes. I assume no one else will be boarding.

This assumption is shattered when all of a sudden a person burst through the flimsy curtain that divides the normal people from first class. He definitely does not look like he lives in Miami, but he does not look like the average tourist either. He looks like a cowboy in a rugged plaid shirt, grass stained jeans, and cowboy boots. Yes, real leather cowboy boots, the kind you expect true farmer boys wear. In the five seconds it takes me to give him a once over, my brain automatically decides he actually lives in Wyoming. I know my grandparents live on a farm, so I am also betting he lives a similar lifestyle. I notice his cheeks are flushed a rosy color that suggests he had to sprint in order to catch this flight. Unless his cheeks are naturally that vibrant color. I stop myself, am I really contemplating this total stranger's cheek color? I slip in my earbuds, turn up my ipod, and focus on the foggy window next to me.

Literally five seconds later, I feel a light tap on my shoulder. Startled, I whip my head around. Cowboy Boots is standing in front of me smiling a confident smile, showing off his perfect pearly whites. Then I listen to him ask one simple question.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"







Chapter 2

The words escape my mouth before I can stop myself, without a second thought. A completely out of character action for me, as I am almost always cautious and careful. I can't tell him to move now, that would be so impolite. And who am I kidding, I snuck another glance at him, he's gorgeous. I still have some of my sanity left.

On my third glance he catches me. He doesn't seem surprised though, he just smiles and gestures towards my iTouch. His lips move, but I cannot hear what he is saying on account of the deafening rock music thumping in my eardrums. I tap the screen to turn the volume down, and he speaks again.

"That's a cool iPod you've got there."

So Cowboy is friendly. "Thanks, my sister gave it to me," I reply.

I don't mention that it was a pity-gift from her. That I almost didn't take it because it was supposed to be some kind of bribe. That the only reason I did was because I can't live without my music. At least I didn't openly lie.

To my annoyance, he spoke again. What was with this guy?

"So you're into music, mind if I take a look at your playlist?"

"Sure," I say and hand him my precious iTouch.

He takes his time contemplating the long list of songs, as if he is reading deeper into them, to find some kind of meaning. He is beginning to annoy me because he is trying to make my flight pleasant. Not exactly the disaster I envisioned. I want to wallow in my semi'depression state so that I have something to complain about to my required nightly phone call to my Mom. i just can't seem to resist talking to him though, he is too inviting and nice. The boy has charisma, and he continues when he opens his mouth once more.

"You've got an interesting mix of music on here. Bubbly pop one minute then depression-rock the next. you have great taste though, don't get me wrong."

How does this stranger know me so well already?