For a Pessimist, I am Pretty Optimistic

(I wrote this 6 months ago when this condition pretty much ruled my life. It’s interesting to see that not only did my life improve once I learned to cope with it, but my writing voice became way less melancholy.)

I couldn’t take it anymore.  I was slowly sinking into myself. Wake up, clean, cook, watch TV, sleep. That was what all of my days consisted of…in that order. I was trapped. Caged. Tamed.

Forgive me for being a bit maudlin, but I have the time to over-think things. What else is there for me to do?

There was always the option to leave the house, but that was never really an option. You see, I couldn’t leave. I wouldn’t.

This time I was in different spirits. I began to feel even more antsy than usual. I was tired of being stuck here and acting like I enjoyed it. The need to get out was greater than ever.

As I showered and dressed I realized simply leaving the house wasn’t enough. Where would I go, to the crowded city? I didn’t want to feel everyone’s eyes as they watched my every move. That’s the exact reason why we left the city to move to suburbia. I wasn’t going to my mother’s either. She definitely was always watching me, trying to read into all my words and actions. At least she never means any harm; she couldn’t help but be an ever watchful mother. While putting on my shoes I felt a light bulb go off in my head. I knew exactly where to go: JFK airport.

I took the Long Island Railroad to Jamaica. The ride was exhilarating. The entire car was empty, sans one person, but they were on the other side. I could barely see the top of their head above the seat anyway. I listened to music on my IPod as I stared out the window like a cat watching birds.

I had worked at Airline X for 2 years. Unfortunately, by that time I let my personal problems take such control over my life that I didn’t bother to protest when I was wrongfully discharged. It was such a shame because I loved working there. I KNEW my job and did it exceedingly well. Plus, I looked great in the uniform. My curves showed in just the right places.

I had been to the Terminal only a handful of times since I left. Each time I spent it in utter panic that I would see someone I knew. Once I bumped into a guy I used to sleep with. That was an awkward encounter.

My heart begins to pound as I transfer at Jamaica Station to the Air Train. How I loathe the Air Train. When my husband and I got our first apartment, we lived right across the street from the station in Howard Beach. The Air Train had replaced the employee buses and never worked properly. Most of the time it would stop on the track for no reason and stay there for 15 minutes at least. Since I never allow myself extra time on the way to work, I was often late instead of my usual breezing in exactly on time.

The electronic sign above the platform says “Next Air Train 15 minutes”. I take this time to call the employee extension of Airline X’s reservation line. Because my husband works for them, I’m still entitled to free standby seats. I book myself on the next flight to Las Vegas. I picked that city on an impulse. I always had a nice time in Vegas. And I got married there. 6 months later I had my honeymoon there too.

The flight doesn’t leave for another 6 hours. I do my nervous tick of rotating my wedding ring on my finger using my thumb. I should really stop doing that. Lots of times I’ve made it slip off and once it rolled across an entire subway car. My husband would be pissed if I lost it.  Since I’m not working, we don’t have the money to get another one. Not to mention we got the ring at a really great sale price.

I arrive at the Terminal, but don’t check in. The rule is that the soonest anyone can check in is 4 hours prior to the flight. I decide to walk into the Terminal anyway. The wind always whips around the front of the departures building, so it would be silly to stand outside.

The automatic doors open and I’m immediately engulfed by the smell of the Terminal. I can’t explain it exactly, but the building has its own smell. Check in smells different than the gate area and arrivals have its own smell too. I can’t help but inhale. To me, it smells like home.

I make my way quickly past the check in counter. It’s been year since I’ve been there and I’m sure they have different agents working there now. Everyone I know has advanced in the company, many going to either In-flight or Headquarters. Still, I didn’t want to risk bumping into anyone. I didn’t need any reunions making me go off track from my escape.

Finding a seat in the corner on the upper level or the departures area before security, I took a book out from my bag. For an hour and a half I immerse myself in reading “Confessions of a Shopaholic” by Sophie Kinsella. I could read that book a million times. I totally relate to Becky’s antics that were always created because she acted without thinking. Reading also helped me from looking at anyone else. If I noticed that people were around, then I would think they were watching me and I would start to panic. I couldn’t let myself panic now. If I did, then I would never leave.

Suddenly, he was there. I didn’t even need to look; I could feel his presence. “Hey,” I said to my husband, not bothering to look up from my book. How silly. We both knew I wasn’t focusing on the words anymore.

He moved my pocketbook off the seat next to me and sat. “It’s nice to see you left the house on your own. What are you dong here?”

I turned a page. “Waiting to check in.”

“Where are you going?”

“Vegas.”

“With only your pocketbook and one book?” he asked.

Ha! He thought he was so smart. “I have two other books in my bag.”

“Damn, there’s always so much buried in your purse.”

“I know. That’s why I bought it. Don’t worry, it was on sale.”

I turned another page.

“So, why are you here?” I asked. “I thought you work at Headquarters now after your promotion.”

“Yeah I do, but I got a call that you were here.”

I raised my eyebrow. “From who?”

“Someone. They saw you and happened to mention it to me when we talked on the phone.”

I glared at him. He didn’t shift his eyes away. He thought that would throw me off and it usually does for a second. But then I can usually see right through him when I look again.

“Stephen called you, didn’t he?” I determined. Stephen was our mutual friend who also worked at Airline X. As a matter of fact, I had the opportunity to train him before I was fired.

“Maybe,” my husband replied.

“What the hell, why doesn’t he stay in his department?” I fumed. “There’s no reason why he should be out here. Doesn’t anyone in this company stay where they belong and do their work?”

My husband laughed. We sat in silence for another 15 minutes.

“If you want I can get you checked in now,” he volunteered.

“You would let me go?” I asked. I wasn’t sure I liked that.

“Could I come with you?” he asked.

I pursed my lips thinking. It wasn’t really an escape if he came with me.

“See?” he said as I remained silent. Taking my ID he went to the check in counter for me. It was against the rules, but he’s a supervisor and can get away with it.

He came back up with my pass and we sat together until it was time to board. “Do you want to go to the gate now?” he asked. I shook my head. There was no rush. Standby seats were always called very last minute.

“Are you sure you want to go?” my husband asked. “You know we don’t have more than 11 dollars in the bank so you wouldn’t be able to do much. Besides, you don’t even have a change of clothes. If you really must, why don’t we go home, pack you a suitcase and come back for the next flight?”

I slammed my book on my lap. “Because, then I would never leave. Are you trying to make me stay on purpose?” I stood up. “I don’t want to stay here because you want me to. I’m trapped; I can’t stand it at home. The walls are closing in on me and I need to get away, even if it’s for a day.”

He nodded. “Fine then, have fun. I’m glad you’ll be coming right back. I’d be lonely without you and you know I might forget to feed the cats.”

We walked over to the security line where a huge mass of people were gathered. TSA barked orders at people to remove shoes, place laptops in bins, and remember that no liquids are allowed past this point. The final boarding call for my flight was playing over the loudspeaker. My husband gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. I turned to the security line and stood still as I watched as everyone.

I couldn’t move. Finally the panic was setting in. I knew this was going to happen. Desperately I tried to walk, but my feet wouldn’t budge. I turned to my husband. He looked back sadly. He knew what was happening to me. I could see how sorry he felt for me as I started to breath in shallow gasps. Even though he didn’t want me to go, he wanted me to come to my own conclusion to stay; not stay because of my sickness.

I sighed as I attempted to steady my breathing. At least it was worth a try, I thought.

He came over and put his arm around me. I leaned into the crook of his arm and we began to walk back together.

“Do I need to go to work with you and stay in the car or something?” I asked as we got in the car. “Or can you stop at home first?”

“I can take you home, but then I have to go back to work for a few hours,” he said. “If that’s what you’d like?”

I was a bit tired. Why did I stay at the Terminal so long? I always hate waiting around doing nothing. A little nap would be nice. The cats are probably enjoying having the whole bed to themselves. They’re such silly boys.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” I said. I leaned back against the seat as I stared out the window.