Fly me away on an aeroplane
High in the sky
Goldfrapp
Fly me away
Italics indicates flashback. Please note: some strong language later on.
XxX
He doesn't remember getting on the plane. And yet, somehow, he's thousands of feet above the ground headed somewhere that he hopes is New York.
There are about a dozen things that he can't remember in this moment.
Right now, none of them matter, but they float through his mind regardless in rare moments not occupied by the encompassing pain.
This is one such moment and worries torment him about how did he get to the airport; does he have luggage; does anyone know that he's coming to New York; did he tell Richard not to expect him at work for… God knows how long?
He knows that it's his brain's way of distracting him from reality and in those moments he's perfectly happy to be in denial.
And then… he sinks deep into pain. The initial numbness has subsided somewhat, leaving a deep ache in the back of his throat where tears threaten but he refuses to allow them. Not in public. Not with a screaming infant a couple of seats down and a woman who cannot settle to his right. "I don't like flying," she tells him, shifting in her seat, nervously chewing on fingernails, and nibbling on the goldfish crackers the airline has provided them by way of a meal.
If he concentrates enough on these details, there's less space in his head for the pain. There's less chance of an incredibly public emotional breakdown.
There's a plastic cup of scotch in front of him that he doesn't remember ordering. He drinks it in one gulp. The resulting burning at the back of his throat is satisfying and it takes away the edge of the pain. He knows that it's going to take a lot of effort not to give into this feeling over the next few days, weeks… months?
There's a moment of turbulence and the woman next to him grabs hold of the arm rests tightly; knuckles turning white. The infant bawls louder.
He can't find it within himself to even attempt to comfort her or pay any attention to the high pitched screams of the child; instead he's drawn into a memory that he hasn't thought of in years.
He is nine years old and travelling on an airplane for the first time. He is fascinated by all aspects of air travel; asks everyone far more in depth questions than they could ever hope to answer. He has a window seat and gazes, rapt, at the landscape below. Sarah sits beside him, pointing out elements of the geography that she may or may not actually know.
Most of his family have flown before. Kathleen grabs hold of the arm rests as they take off; their mother urges her to take deep breaths – that they are not really falling as they go through clouds, but she seems little convinced herself.
And then, the captain announces over the tannoy that they are likely to experience turbulence soon. He looks to Sarah; at almost three years older than him, she's not much more knowledgeable than him, but she shrugs. "It's nothing," she says with all the wisdom of a 12 year old. "Just pockets of air."
The airhostesses move further down the plane with offerings of a steak dinner. He's never tried airplane food and accepts his willingly.
His entirely family served, the plane takes this moment to start moving up and down in small jerks that cause Kathleen's eyes to widen and hands to firmly reattach themselves to the armrests. Nancy and Maura are little better. His mother eyes her food warily before placing the foil covering back over.
Sarah shrugs and eats her food. He follows suit. And when finished, she asks Kathleen if she's gonna eat her cake. Kathleen, now looking a little green, shakes her head.
One by one, Derek and Sarah eat the rest of their family's meals: the only two unaffected by the turbulence.
"That was fun," Sarah tells their family at the end of the flight. And since he does whatever Sarah does, Derek agrees wholeheartedly.
The captain interrupts his reverie. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving at Newark airport. Local time is 16:05."
The captain continues on, but Derek is no longer listening. 4pm: 1pm Seattle time. Where has the time gone? The woman sitting next to him breathes nasally, almost hyperventilating as they descend. He cannot bring himself to care.
Half an hour later he has collected luggage he doesn't remember packing and hailed a cab.
He rides past buildings he has not seen since his move to Seattle. Roads that hold memories, both good and bad.
40 minutes later he arrives at his Mom's house; the home of his youth. He closes his eyes and takes a breath before exiting the cab. He can handle this. He has to.
Their street is one of large houses and generous lots. His mom's house is set back from the road; a brick and slatted house with a matching 2-car garage to the right hand side. There are two cars in the driveway, both reasonably new. He doesn't know who they belong to; this is the first time he's been back to New York since leaving and things have changed.
After paying the cab driver, he grabs his bags from the side walk, heaves one over his back and carries the other in his hand and walks slowly up to the front porch.
He hesitates a moment before ringing the doorbell. He's not sure what he's going to find on the other side and experience tells him that seeing his family's reaction will make things more real.
His mother opens the door. Outwardly, she is the same as ever: well-presented, stylish clothing, immaculate hair and makeup. But her eyes, her beautiful dark eyes, are tinged with red and immediately well up when she sees him standing in front of her.
"Derek," she says; her voice catching as she reaches the second syllable. She is well into her sixties, and yet, until this moment, has never appeared anywhere near her age.
"Mom," he replies, unable to say more.
She opens her arms wide and embraces him. "I'm glad you're here," she tells him in a voice tinged with sadness. "I've missed you, darling."
"I've missed you too, Mom," he says. He feels the back of his throat ache painfully, the tears threaten to fall, and this time, just this once, he allows them. He holds his mother tightly, and they stand like that in silence, each feeling their deep loss, for several minutes.
And then, he takes a breath, wipes his eyes, and pulls back, giving his mother a brief kiss on the cheek.
She stands back, holding the door, allowing him to enter the house. He puts his bags down in the hallway, and briefly takes in the room. It hasn't changed since he was last at home and he finds this reassuring.
"Gramma?" the voice comes from the vicinity of the kitchen doorway and he sees a young girl there of about 9 years old.
"Grace, you remember Uncle Derek?"
His niece – so much older than he remembers – nods her head cautiously. "Livvy's hungry," she says eventually.
Grace and Olivia – two of his nine nieces; Sarah's daughters. God, he can't begin to understand what they must be going through. He wasn't much older when he lost his father; a man who loved all his children, but his father was a man who was busy working and away from home much of the time making sure he could provide for all five of them. His father was an ambitious man who ensured that all of his children retained his values of good grades, hard work, and a belief in excelling in whatever (exceptional) career path they chose. Not like Sarah, who just wanted her children to be happy.
Sarah was the least like him and the most like her mother, and his father loved her all the more for it.
He and Sarah are sat in the kitchen, finishing off homework, when their father returns home from a work trip to France.
"Derek, I hear you were selected to play saxophone in the orchestra?" his father asks as he enters the room.
He nods proudly. Playing in the orchestra is a high honour, especially when he's not been playing as long as some of those who weren't selected.
"Well done, son. When are you playing?" his father enquires.
"Summer concert is in July," he responds. He looks up from his math and wonders if his father will attend.
"And Sarah," his tone changes, "I understand you got a B in your science test." Their father's eyebrows are raised, his face disappointed.
Sarah shrugs. She doesn't seem to seek his approval like the others. "I want to be a writer," she tells him. "Or maybe an English teacher. Either way, science isn't so important." She raises her head, giving a defiant look, and Derek is puzzled to see that his father struggles against a smile. None of the others could get away with a B in science, or talking to their father like that.
"Then I hope that your English grades are highest in the class," he replies eventually.
"Of course," she tells him, before returning to concentrate on her work.
When their father turns to leave, Derek can see more than a hint of a smile on his face.
He follows his niece into the kitchen and finds it little changed since the last he saw it. The kitchen itself is divided into two parts, separated by an island with four chairs against it, where they would both prepare and eat food. Cupboards adorn nearly half the kitchen; on the other half, a table and six chairs where they would eat most of their meals together. When their father was around, they'd always eat in the dining room.
Olivia – Livvy – sits at the island counter. He hasn't seen her in a while and is immediately struck by the fact that she is a perfect replica of Sarah as a child. He feels almost as though he has been transported back in time. Her curly dark hair cascades past her face in the same disarray as Sarah's. The look on her face – almost suspicious, questioning – is the same expression he's seen on Sarah's face on many occasions. He cannot keep his eyes off her. Grace walks over to her, places her hand on Livvy's arm, protectively.
"Livvy wants a peanut butter and jelly sandwich," Grace tells them.
At the age of 6, Derek is sure that Olivia should be able to make these requests herself, but a shake of the head from his mother informs him otherwise. "She's not spoken since…" she starts quietly, but doesn't continue. "Would you like one, too?" his mother asks Grace.
"I'd like peanut butter with banana, please."
His mother locates the appropriate items and motions to Grace to help her make the sandwiches. Grace obliges.
Derek stands there, currently unable to say or do much that would be of assistance. Instead, he takes a seat next to Livvy.
"When's dad getting back?" Grace asks as she passes Livvy a plate with her sandwich and an apple as provided by her grandma.
"I don't know, sweetheart. He has… things to do," Derek can see his mother shaking slightly; almost unnoticeably trying to control her emotions as she attempts to focus on brushing crumbs off the counter. They fall into her hand and she continues to wipe her hand across the counter, brushing nothingness into her palm. Eventually, emotions checked, she deposits the crumbs in the sink and turns back towards her granddaughters. "Does Joseph want anything to eat?" she asks.
Grace stands still. Trembling with unshed tears as she considers where her father might be, her face getting redder. "I want dad," she says. She shakes her head. "I want my mom." Tears start to fall, rolling slowly down her face. "I want my mommy," she whispers, before sobbing uncontrollably. Livvy stares at her peanut butter and jelly sandwich in silence. His mom gathers them both up in an embrace.
"I know sweetheart. I know. I want her too."
He has to look away from the scene. He cannot fix this; God, how he wants to fix this, make it all right again. But his sister, their mom, his mother's daughter, is not coming back home again, and he doesn't know what to do about that.
Instead he exits, ostensibly with the objective of finding if Joe wants anything to eat.
He wanders the halls of the house, taking deep breaths to control his emotions. He looks in the various rooms, not knowing where his nephew is hiding out. Eventually, he finds Joe in Kathleen's old room.
His nephew sits playing on the Xbox, shooting at the many enemies, cursing when he suffers defeat. The scene seems out of place in his sisters' old room; a shrine to her many equestrian accomplishments in all it's pink, frilly and flowery glory.
"Uncle Derek, hi," the fifteen year old greets him before he returns his concentration to the game. Derek knows little of video games and so sits on the bed and watches as Joe attempts to annihilate the opposition in his war.
There is silence for a while, before Joe makes occasional comments about his tactics that Derek doesn't understand. Eventually the game comes to an end, Joe defeated again.
"Did you want anything to eat?" Derek starts.
Joe shrugs.
"Your sisters had peanut butter sandwiches. I could make you one if you wanted. Or I could see what else Mom has in?" Derek offers.
Joe shrugs again. The TV blares out the video game music on constant repeat. Joe hits the mute button on the remote.
"It was a fuckin' drunk driver," he says after a while. Derek would normally comment on his use of language, but he can't object this time. Instead he allows Joe to speak. "She was driving back from some event with the magazine, promised to get back early since she wanted to take us out wherever we wanted the next morning, and so doesn't drink at all. And then some bastard drives into her car 'cause he couldn't stop himself from drinking half a fucking bottle of vodka before he gets in his car." He looks up at his uncle, unshed tears in his eyes, anger radiating from every pore of his body. "What sort of fuckin' moron thinks it's okay to drink half a bottle of vodka before driving? Fuckin' bastard's gonna be okay. My mom gets taken to hospital and never makes it out and my kid sisters get to sit at the hospital for hours." He slams his hand against the wood of the bed, causing Derek to jump. Joe says nothing about the pain he must be feeling in his hand.
Derek places one hand on Joe's back in a comforting gesture, not sure if a 15 year old would accept a hug. But, that gesture made, he can't help but embrace his nephew. Joe doesn't fight against him.
They stay like that a while, each trying to come to terms with their pain. It's only the sound of the door opening downstairs that causes them to eventually move.
"Dad's back," Joe comments, pulling away and making a slow start to exit the room.
Derek wants to tell him that everything will be okay, but he knows it would be an empty promise.
He sits in the room a while on his own, wanting to give the family space, wanting to be able to be strong for them, needing some time to think. His cell phone ringing disrupts his thoughts.
He answers blindly.
"Hello?"
"Hi, it's me. It's Meredith," the person on the other end qualifies.
There's a moment of silent confusion as he attempts to bring himself into the present and yet cannot understand why she of all people would be calling.
"Meredith?" he asks after a while, his voice raw.
As she starts to ramble he realises that she finds it hard to know what to say. He realises that they haven't really spoken in a long time.
"I just… I… I wanted to check that you got there okay. I mean, you…you were kind of out of it and at the airport I had to get you on the right plane. So guess I just wanted to make sure that you were… well, that you found a cab and got to your mom's okay."
Distractedly, he replies. "I, uh, yeah, I got here okay." He rubs a hand over his face, struggling to know how to respond.
"Okay. Well… good. I guess I should try and get back to work then."
There's a moment of silence and he finally thinks of something to say. "Meredith? Thanks… for getting me on the right plane."
"Yeah. Well. I hope… If you need anything, you can call. If you want."
He nods, even though she can't see it. "Thanks."
They hang up and he's left sitting in his sister's old room, surrounded by fluffy animals, wondering what the hell just happened. But in this moment, he can't process it.
It takes him a moment more to rouse himself from the room and make it downstairs.
He finds the family in the kitchen. Bill, his brother in law, sits at the table, his Armani suit rumpled, unshaven face aged by years, Grace clinging to him.
It is this change that almost shocks him most. His brother in law – a partner in a prestigious law firm, the most impeccably dressed and well presented man, self-assured nearly to the point of arrogance – sitting in his mother's kitchen in disarray.
"Bill," he comments by way of greeting. His brother-in-law barely looks at him.
"I need a drink," he says. "God, I need a drink."
And Derek can do nothing but oblige.
XxX
He's running home from school; the large saxophone case in his hand bangs repeatedly against his leg, and he struggles against its weight, but the flute and clarinet really aren't cool, so he's just going to have to deal with it.
His dad has been in the hospital a few days now and he wants to know how he is and maybe later Kathleen will drive them to the hospital so he can tell his dad the great news about his saxophone solo in the summer concert.
He runs up to the house, opens the door with his key, shouts out to his sister. "Hey, Kathleen, I'm home. Can we go to the hospital? I gotta tell dad something."
It's Sarah who enters the hall first. She looks at her younger brother with red-tinged eyes, slumped shoulders, her whole body radiating her distress.
"What's going on?" he asks. She shakes her head, not able to bring herself to tell him. "Sarah, what's going on? Sarah?" She approaches him, looking at him with pity and sadness.
He's never seen Sarah like this. He's her annoying little brother, and she only ever looks at him with enmity, rolling her eyes at him, making fun of him, hitting him.
"Sarah, what's going on?"
"It's dad," she starts, and she doesn't have to continue because he knows exactly what she's going to say. "He's… Dad's… he's gone."
He doesn't object when she hugs him tight, so tight that he can barely breathe.
And then, there's just the two of them and silence.
XxX