Flight 45

         “Calling flight 45, flight 45, please board your plane, flight 45, the gates are open.”

         Will jumped when the intercom’s voice played once, then again. He sat up, yawning and feeling his back pop. “Ow…” He muttered, fumbling for his suitcase. What flight had just been called? Flight… Forty-something, right? Will got out of the chair (that he had spent the night in) and walked to the nearest desk.

         “Excuse me, which flight just got called?” He asked, his voice as groggy as his vision, which couldn’t make out the details in the young flight attendant’s face.

         “Flight 45. And sir, you’ve been asleep for a day and a half.” The voice that Will heard was male. Turning a bright red, Will nodded. “Right.” He turned and sat back down, sinking into the padded seat and wishing he could sleep another day and a half.

         Suddenly, he jumped. Oh, now I remember. The alcohol…. Will picked up a newspaper and held it in front of his face so he could think without getting stared at.

         The other night, he’d driven up to the airport and his buddies decided to meet him there to see him off. They decided to go out to a bar… Will furrowed his eyebrows, thinking, and wincing because of the pounding hangover-headache remembering was giving him. He only remembered snippets:

         …“Hey, I’ll pay for the next round, boys!”

         …“No, really, it’s on me!”

         …“Ha, bet Isabel’s regretting you!”

         …“Boy, I wish!”

         …“Who’s driving?”

         …“Tim’ll drive!”

         …“… You’re all stinking drunk. I’m driving…”

         …“Woah! See you later, man!”

         …“Bye!”

         Will sighed. Isabel.

         He brought the newspaper down and set it back on the stand without folding it up. How many times had he sworn not to remember her name? And how many times had he cried because he knew he couldn’t?

         It was his fault… he knew it. Face in his hands, Will sighed. It had been over such a stupid problem, too. The electricity bill. The minute Isabel got her hands on that electricity bill, everything starting spiraling out of control.

         “Isabel, it’s no problem, I’ll pay for it.”

         “With what money, Will?”

         Will grimaced. Money. Such a stupid, stupid, petty thing. So vital, and so stupid. The minute it became absolutely necessary, what had he done with their money?

         Booze. Now THAT was even worse… Will could remember every single bottle he’d drank, and even more vividly he could remember the money that stacked up to pay for it.

         “Will, what’s this?”

         “That’s the bill, honey.”

         “What does it say here?”

         “…”

         “Drinking? We’re spiraling into debt and you’re spending all we have left on… on drinking?”

         “Isabel, I really can explain!”

         “Oh, I’m sure you can, Will. I’m sure you can.”

         “Please!”

         “I’m giving you one more chance.”

         Will checked his bags to make sure nothing had been stolen. He was short some toothpaste and his shampoo. He muttered a curse.

         He’d done a wonderful job staying alcohol-free for about six weeks. Then came... Bonnie.

         She was so, so beautiful. She was the new secretary at Will’s office, and she was the most beautiful woman Will had ever met. Will flirted. Shamelessly. And one day, they hit the bar and…

         “Will? Will, where have you been? I almost called the police, I was so worried!”

         “Sorry, Isabel… Work just sort of caught up to me, I guess.”

         “… You smell funny… Will… You were out drinking…”

         “N-No!”

         “You were… That’s women’s perfume… You… Will!”

         “Isabel, it isn’t what you think!”

         “It’s exactly what I think, you… You…”

         “I’m sorry!”

         “Don’t give me that bullcrap! Get the hell out of my house, you freeloader!”

         Will closed his eyes tightly and shook his head like that could get rid of the memory of him packing. She set the kitchen timer, and when it went off she shoved him out of the house with whatever he’d managed to cram in his bag.

         And that was it.

         Will didn’t even remember if he’d gotten to say goodbye. He only knew that now he was going to go to Chicago and start over… and get it right this time. He was determined to get it right.

         “Calling flight 45, flight 45, the gates for flight 45 are opening now, please board your plane.”

         Slowly, Will stood up and walked towards the gate, taking a deep breath before stepping through the door and hearing it slide shut behind him. He swore to himself to never, ever come back here again.

         And to forget her name…