GOODBYE, PARADISE

Why does it seem like the ship is always sailing off without me?

I push that thought away as the fed—the female one, the one who chased me—helps me into the car. I don't know; that thought sounds too much like self-pity. Not good for me right now to dwell on it. I can't, don't have time for it right now.

Problem is, it also sounds too much like the truth.

Though I don't want to, I peek through the car window. He's on there, on that ship. We were supposed to be on there together. Michael, me, and a one-way trip to Panama.

Nothing's really funny at this point, but I smile to myself anyway. Why Panama, Michael? Nothing wrong with Panama, you know. But there are other places I just would've rather run away to with him. Some tropical island like Tahiti. How about Fiji? The rainforests of Brazil—adventure, I like that. A faraway, exotic village in Morocco.

Someplace miles away from this place. Light years away from the past, from what's become such a mess. As if a ship could really transport us, not just to a place, but to paradise itself.

I look away from the window when that other one stands in front of it. Him—Mahone. Standing and talking to the female agent and someone else. He steals a glance at me, glares at me, his lips pulled into a taut line. He's pissed.

Briefly, for a fleeting moment, I'm afraid. Will he be the one to get behind the steering wheel? Is he going to drive me to my death?

Anyway, do I care anymore?

Ah, the fear doesn't last. I don't care about myself anymore, period. All I care about is Paradise.

I should be on that ship, I tell myself.

Into the front seat slides the female agent, the one with the short-cropped hair. Her eyes are filled with intelligence and an emotion I can't quite read. They meet mine in the rearview mirror for a second. They reflect pity.

I don't want that; I don't want that at all. How dare she? Without hesitation, I tear my own gaze away.

Paradise. I've never really thought about what that word means. I say the word in my mind a few times. Supposedly, it's a place. A beautiful, mystical, romance-filled, glorious place. Like no other place on Earth. When you're there, everything suddenly makes sense, and what doesn't make sense melts away like the last snowfall of the year on a warm, spring-kissed day. There is nowhere else you want to be, and your heart feels whole there. In paradise, there's always love. If there wasn't, it would cease to be paradise. It would just be another place.

I realize then, as the car pulls away from the curb, that paradise isn't a place. Not to me. The only paradise I believe in is Michael. The only place I want to be is in his arms, for him to hold me. To hear him say he loves me. But I know I'll probably never, ever hear him say those words to me again. Not on this Earth.

And there is the ship, sailing off without me. There is the ship, taking Paradise away from me. I'd visited Paradise . . . in a prison, on a train, in a hotel room, never having to step foot off dry land. It was beautiful. My soul photographed every memory of it. And every one of those photographs is indestructible.

Once you've been there, how do you forget that place?

I should have been on that ship. What can you do? My only choice was to let it go.

THE END

THE END