The Whisper

I had gotten so used to boarding flights first from traveling with young kids, I’d forgotten the exhaustive wait for the eventual Group 8 to make it to our seats. At least, after all that eager fidgeting while the other groups ushered in, I still had my window seat waiting for me. Even if I had to slide past someone who was long overdue for a diet, but still stubborn enough not to get out of my way.

I’d hoisted my carry-on up into the overhead compartment and tucked my Celine bag under the seat in front of me. Already wishing I had brought a blanket with me, as the chill from the pressurized tin can rattled my slender limbs.

I glanced at my watch, we were behind schedule already. Tsk.

I squirmed in my seat after fastening my seatbelt, and restlessly flicked open the window shade, to watch the baggage handlers trucking our luggage up the conveyor, parcel by parcel. No apparent regard for whose treasured belongings were in there, they swung them like they were training for some Olympic challenge and needed all the practice they could get. Sheesh.

Their brashness reminded me of someone else who could afford to go on a diet. There was something thrilling about returning to a high school reunion and seeing just how many of my classmates had gotten fat. And all the more tantalizing was the way those round faces ogled me after they realized I’d had three children of my own in the span of five years, and a figure that made them reconsider their last three hundred meals, give or take.

After graduation some started college, some never bothered, some went to work for their family’s companies, and others–like me–left the island completely, the pursuit of the American dream. I’d made so many tireless, backbreaking sacrifices but soaking in the thrill of their marinated jealousy of my freedom made it all worth it.

As a teen, I’d always justified my callousness towards the rest of them by reminding myself I was slated for bigger and better things. That I would likely never see them again, so who cared if I let a snappy one-liner fly every now and then. And if I ever did see them again, I’d become someone so enviable they would all shrink away with an acute inferiority complex. I’d even made sure to pad the margins a little, to make sure the point stuck.

The hair extensions and the skims I’d kept on even on the plane reminded me of that.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard this flight to Atlanta. We’re currently looking at a smooth ride, with a flight time of approximately three hours and ten minutes. Before we push back from the gate, I’d like to ask for—” blah blah blah. Heard it all before.

They think stopping the embedded screens from showing us anything interesting will get us to pay attention to someone showing us how the seatbelt works for the dozenth time. If this bird actually went down over the Caribbean sea, half the people in here wouldn’t be able to survive it anyway. I was a strong swimmer, resilient. Maybe I could survive it.

Though, I couldn’t banish the thought of why I’d want to.

The devil never shouts, he whispers.

Once I got to Atlanta, I’d have to go through customs and wait another two hours before my connecting flight to Newark, where I’d catch an Uber back to our townhouse. I’d arrive just in time for bubble baths and bedtime stories. I’d close the door, answer surface level questions about my trip, and who I’d seen, and how much fun I didn’t have, and then get a surface level kiss before turning in for the night.

The American nightmare.

At least I wasn’t like someone else who came to mind–several someone’s actually–who’d all come together to exhibit the same shared psychosis of having babies for men who were inactive, insincere, and worst of all…broke.

Time for takeoff. The wheels left the tarmac, the nose of the plane tilted towards the sky. I shuddered as the nauseating pressure built up between my ears.

There was truly nothing I could think of that could be worse. No matter what happened, I know I married a good man. We married young, right out of high school. He had two degrees in Engineering, and worked a six-figure job in the city. He was gone twelve hours a day and traveled on weekends. I finished a double major in Psychology and Biology, with a dual minor in Pre-Law and Political Science, back when I couldn’t decide if I would be better off becoming a Psychiatrist or an Attorney. Eventually I decided a life of caretaking wasn’t for me.

We’d bought our first house and had our first baby before I was halfway through law school. We both had top grades throughout both our programs and managed to finish it all with only combined sixty thousand dollars in debt. Our lives were picture perfect. We sent our kids to private school because the thought of them getting shot up with the Republicans’ kids, and getting too much Pride from the Liberals’, made me queasy.

I pictured my babies. They all loved me to such a suffocating degree. Always one more hug, and one more kiss. Hungry for more pieces of me than I had in stock. There’s no way I loved my mother this much, but as my husband likes to remind me–she’s annoying.

I glanced at my watch again, time flies when you’re stuck in your own head. It was the only thing damming the thoughts of my endless case list, assignments for my paralegals, and the clients I’d need to call come Monday morning. I’d pissed away too much time indulging in my own self-aggrandizement, and my chickens were soon to roost.

I was still a Senior Associate, doing the high-level grunt work that pays for the Porsches. But at least I had a team of grunts of my very own. If only they would flourish into their own and grow some common sense. I couldn’t handle another meeting because one of these flunkies didn’t know how to Bluebook and a Partner caught the mistake. Children and subordinates will always have that in common, they always know how to embarrass you.

Everything they do reflects on you, how you raised them.

How you spend your time relating to them, or not. I was in an elite, niche, subset of women who got to earn six-figures working from home. One of my kids went to school, and I stayed home with the other two. I worked ten hour days clacking away at my computer while balancing lunch times, meetings, nap times, client calls, school pick ups, leadership seminars, veterinary appointments, wellness visits, meal plans, vitamins, packing lunches, playing nurse maid, cleaning, potty training, exercising, and laundry. Then, in my off-time, remembering enrollment forms, seasonal clothing rotations, playdates, someone always wanting to touch me, swimming classes, taekwondo lessons, and filing the taxes–which I was still forgetting to finish. Three weeks to go.

I forced my eyes closed. My therapist said I took on too much. Not that I think he’s right, but the character flaw that is his gender was what resulted in the superb recommendation of hiring a cleaner and a meal prep service. Two things off my plate. Yippee.

The devil didn’t just whisper then; he was starting to hum along with the engines of the plane.

What would happen if I didn’t board my second plane?

My mind began racing.

Atlanta wasn’t the city for me. The worst traffic in the continental US? Count me out. I didn’t have the patience for it. Surely, though, they would have a bus station. Greyhound could take me anywhere I wanted to go.

I always traveled with a surplus of cash, and there were still four hundred dollar bills and some loose change in my Celine bag. Could that be enough to get me out, cut the strings?

I pictured myself in the first Diner off I-75 and filling out a paper application, which they’d accept, because they were starved for staff with a modicum of class and discipline. No more lives held in my hands, just burgers, fries and burnt coffee. I had everything I needed to start over, the perk of international travel was my passport was already on me.

I could just go.

I sat still for the first time since arriving at the airport. My nervous system relaxed. My eyelids closed.

The crackle of the pilot’s voice jolted me awake. I blinked in disbelief, no one even bothered to wake me up for the round of refreshments. The sleep felt more like time traveling than resting.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain announcing we are headed into our final descent into Atlanta. We should be on the ground within fifteen minutes. The weather is sunny, with temperatures in the low-eighties. We hope you enjoyed your flight with us on Delta Airlines.”

The hum of the engine as we pushed to our final descent reminded me of the whispers in my mind.

I slipped my hand down into my Celine bag and pulled out my phone and the purse with all the cash. I took the cash and tucked it into the pocket of my slacks. I couldn’t forget my passport, or I wouldn’t get far through Immigration and Customs. My heart skipped a beat when I glimpsed three toothy grins on my lock screen. Hastily, I turned the phone face down. Then slid it into the pocket of the seat in front of me.

It was now or never.

I tried to quiet the pounding of my heart in my chest as I waited patiently for all the rows in front of me to filter out. I may have boarded late, but I was still in the front ten rows. It was my turn. I stood up, my shoulders light. The carry-on in the overhead bin may as well have belonged to someone else. Let them panic about the security threat of some abandoned outfits I’d only worn once. I didn’t reach for it.

I left everything. Even the Celine.

No turning back now. For the first time in five years, I didn’t feel like I had to fight for space to exist. He’d figure out the taxes, or he wouldn’t. Either way, those four would have each other, a roof over their heads, and the best education money could buy. Most importantly, they wouldn’t have the miserable phantom of a wife and mother choking silently every day on her own misery hanging over them.

Four hundred dollars burned in my pocket as I walked off the plane. I didn’t need to look for a connection. I didn’t have anywhere to log into come Monday morning. First the immigration line, one last look at a federal camera, then I would be free.

I didn’t belong to anyone anymore.