It’s been a long time coming, but I guess you kind of forgot about that. At first you waited, wanting it, begging for the release. It never came, so you moved on. Hurt piled on top of hurt. Boyfriends and teachers, parents, strangers and friends–they all added to the pain. Secrets, lies and thinly veiled normalcy became just another facet of your strange, twisted life. But with every lie, every disappointment, you pushed it deeper into your heart, farther out of reach.
You didn’t turn to anything for help. No drugs or alcohol, but you kind of wish you had. If you turned to an addiction, then you could admit something was wrong. Instead, though, you stuck with what you thought was best–ignoring it. That worked (for a while, that is) and you felt grateful that people could ask “how are you,” and you could say “great,” and no one would second guess you. No one would treat you like the broken girl you are.
But suddenly you find yourself in an airplane, several thousand feet above the ground. 7F, the window seat in the middle left, looking over the wing; it’s your favorite. You sit next to a stranger twice your size, so you scoot closer to the window.
Earphones in, shade up, you watch the world go by. The 7:27 direct to Albany carries you through the Philadelphia night sky. Below, you see a football game where some high school is about to lose their homecoming. They unknowingly shoot off fireworks, and little green and red tufts explode below you; you never knew anything that huge could be that small.
And then it hits you. For the first time in years, you’re alone. No one knows you in the sky or on the ground below you. No one knows your story, your heartache. No one knows the hole that has carved itself out of your soul. Not even those fireworks can touch you.
So then it comes. Waves of tears wash over you, and you are born again. Sobs explode from your chest like the fireworks below. Sadness and grief start filling in that hole, pain replaced by acceptance. You’ll never understand the pain, but now you acknowledge it. 7E looks over at you strangely, pushing himself farther toward the aisle. Fuck him. Fuck them all, this isn’t about them, this is about you. Tears drop onto your shirt, washing it of the filth, and you smile.
As the explosions fade from view, you breathe deeply.
