Right?
But then I remember what happened the last time I flew anywhere...
2
Liv
I’ve only been on a plane once in my life, when I was ten and we flew to Orlando for a family vacation at Disney World. I was so scared that my parents had to give me a special medicine from the doctor to chill me out and calm me down for the flight. Every slight turbulence felt like instant death to me. I just knew we were going to drop out of the sky and plummet to our doom at any moment. My mom spent the entire flight stroking my hair and reminding me that it’s more likely to get in a car accident than a plane crash.
Which only had the effect of also making me terrified to get in the taxi waiting for us when we landed in Orlando.
I’d like to think that I’ve matured a little bit since then. Mellowed out, even. But when the day of the flight arrives, I’m trembling yet again. It looks like my old phobia is still going strong, unfortunately. And this is a scarier flight than just hopping on a plane to Florida: this time I’m flying over the Atlantic Ocean.
And I’m doing it all by myself.
“You’ll be just fine, sweetheart,” my mother assures me, her voice wavering. Both of my parents have been excessively hovering over me for the past few weeks, fussing over every little thing and wanting to spend all their time with me. I understand why. This will be the first time I’ve ever lived away from home, and Paris is a long, long way away from North Carolina. I’m an only child and my parents have always been like my best friends, so this is going to be very difficult on all of us. I can’t imagine what it will be like not seeing them every day. Don’t get me wrong, in some ways I am looking forward to the freedom and independence of my new life.
But I’m also scared.
What if I get there and I can’t make any friends? I don’t even speak French! What if I get lost? Or mugged? I know frightening things can happen in big cities, and I’ve spent my whole life living in a place where nobody even thinks to lock their doors.
“It’s not just the flight, Mom,” I admit, sitting on a bench in Raleigh-Durham International Airport. My dad puts an arm around my shoulder and squeezes me tight.
“Don’t let the city intimidate you,” he says. “Livvy, you’re a tough cookie and I know you can handle whatever comes your way.”
“It’s just that… well, what if nobody likes me?” I ask meekly, my voice very small. Both of my parents rush to reassure me.
“Honey, I don’t think you’ve ever met a person who didn’t like you,” Mom says.
“What’s not to like?” Adds my father.
I can’t help but think of Pavlenko, remembering the way he regarded me as though I were just some small annoyance, a gnat buzzing in his face. He delivered the Paris offer almost begrudgingly, like he didn’t agree with the company’s assessment of my talent.
Like he didn’t think I was good enough, but he didn’t want to say anything.
But that’s not a problem I want to worry my parents with. So I keep it to myself. Then a woman’s voice comes over the intercom and announces that my flight, Raleigh to Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris, is boarding in thirty minutes. My parents exchange heartbroken, desperate looks. I know they’re going to miss me. I hope they don’t fall apart without me around to keep them busy. They’re both so involved in my life that I wonder how they’ll manage living their own lives now that I’m leaving.
My father is already in tears, wrapping his arms around me and rocking me back and forth. Mom joins in the group hug, petting my hair and kissing the top of my head.
“Oh, we’re going to miss you so much,” Mom sniffles.
“Promise you’ll call every day, no matter how much it costs,” Dad blubbers, his tears staining my sweatshirt. “We love you, Liv. Please be careful.”
“Text us the second your plane lands, okay!” Mom adds.
As they finally release me from their combined embrace, I assure them that I will keep in contact and that I will love and miss them more than anything. And it’s true. While I’ve always had casual friendships here, no relationship has ever even come close to the tight-knit dynamic of my little family unit.
They walk me as far as security will allow, and then I’m on my own. Waving tearfully to my weepy mother and outright sobbing father, I pass through the security checkpoint and proceed nervously on to the terminal. When I board the plane, I feel that old fear settling in again. The plane is so cramped and warm inside, and I feel slightly claustrophobic. And this time I don’t have my mom to reassure me the whole way.