Departures

We both pause on the curb and check both directions before stepping into the worn, asphalt street. I hear the wheels thump onto the road as Eric pulls his suitcase behind him. We step up on the other side of the street and walk past the coffee shop, through the parking lot gate and over to my car. I watch his face tense as he lifts his suitcase and plops it into the trunk, and wonder to myself when his back will be fully healed. As I loop around the lot to the gate, I check the gas and turn the radio down a little so I can hear him better. We start talking about my car and whether it will actually survive a Chicago summer and winter, the conversation being spurned on by repeated bumps and potholes. 

We start making our way West toward the airport and our conversation starts to center on Hawaii. Eric says he's not sure exactly how far his budget will stretch on the islands, but at least it's pushing him into that job at Express Jet, and maybe then he'll finally be ahead. I nod, knowing how precarious a pilot's job prospects can be and what that means for any sort of financial stability, all the while trying to figure out just how much money is left over in my own budget for gas-- I notice that my tank is low.
         

As we drive I try to sort out the next week in my head, but I feel scattered and like I'm forgetting things. Training today, training tomorrow, two days off this weekend, then four more days next week. When will I see Eric again?

Another week. It hits me. The past 24 hours-- almost to the minute-- have passed me so quickly. It wasn't long enough. Then it hits me again: This is what the next two months are going to be like. Once a week, just 24 hours with my boyfriend before he has to leave again, before we are driving back to the airport, or worse, before he has to catch the train.

The words repeat in my head. I can hear Eric next to me saying something but I can't focus enough to understand him. The tears start filling up my eyes, and I can't find a way to swallow that lump in my throat. One tear spills over my cheek and he stops what he was saying. It's that moment when we both silently acknowledge just how hard this is really going to be.

“I knew this was going to be hard, but I thought that since you've been gone for two months, at least I'd be used to it,” I choke out the words through the tears.

“I know. I know how hard this is. I'm tired of it. I've been thinking about that a lot lately, how I'm ready to be done with the crash pads and the hotel rooms and just be here.”

“I don't want you to go. I don't want you to leave.”

“I know.”

My car slows to a stop in the Fed Ex parking lot. I pop the trunk from the inside, and we both step out to say our goodbyes. Eric lifts the suitcase back out, and I close the trunk. As the latch catches, I realize I can't really see anything beyond the saltwater in my eyes. And I realize that I can't ask him to stay.

Instead I just hold on tight. I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me in close. At least for this moment, he's right here. He's right here with me, saying “I love you.”

And then he's gone.