The definition in his chest and arms is undeniable as the fabric strains against his pecs and biceps. Even with his shirt on I can tell he’s all muscle underneath it. Just then I notice an extremely tall, broad-shouldered man wearing jeans and a blue button-down shirt, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, board the plane.
I remember sneaking around to watch the televised show with my younger brother when he went through a phase of loving that sort of thing. I can tell it’s wrestling from the logos. The hats match their red shirts with some wrestling guy on it. Their brown hair pokes out from underneath the matching baseball caps they have firmly pulled onto their heads. If I had to guess, I’d say the twins are about twelve or so. They are sitting in the first row, directly behind the wall that separates the first class patrons from the rest of us lowly coach passengers. “No can do, Father,” I mumble to myself.Ī mother and her twin sons fill the three empty seats in the row ahead of me. I shake my head and shut my phone off before slipping it into the seat-back pocket in front of me. The same thing said a million different ways: for me to stop this nonsense of starting my own life, and come back home where I belong. The anger in Father’s messages is crystal clear. While the other passengers settle in around me, I quickly flick through my text messages.
I’m ready to make my own decisions about what’s best for me.
I’ve followed his plan for the last twenty-one years, and it’s brought nothing but heartache. My parents, especially my father, have always been great at controlling my life. This morning my father went into one of his lecture-filled rages, telling me what a horrible person I was when I sprung it on him that I would be on the ten o’ clock flight to Detroit to go live with Aunt Dee, his eccentric sister. I’m leaving Portland, leaving behind the only life I’ve ever known, and the only thing I feel like doing is keeping quiet and praying that I’m making the right decision. The older gentleman on my left keeps turning toward me and smiling, probably hoping I’ll strike up polite conversation with him, but I’m just not in the mood to be nice. I always request an aisle or window seat if I can, but this flight was booked solid and the unhelpful lady at the check-in desk told me there was absolutely no wiggle room to change seats. There’s no better way to ruin a perfectly peaceful flight than sitting between two complete strangers.
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