Author: Patrick
Title: She Didn't Get Off the Plane
Disclaimer: I don't own them. "Your Eyes" from Rent – Lyrics by Jonathan Larson (If you are able to get a hold of it, listen to this song as you near the end of this chapter, I think it nicely articulates the emotions I'm trying to convey there. I'd send the MP3 to you but that is, of course, illegal.
AN: So the R rating of the last chapter was unnecessary, In my mind's eye, the crash site was a lot more gruesome than my words made it come across.
Chapter 11
Everything was a blur when Rachel's eyes crept open again. Sensing the pressure of a solid surface beneath her shoulder blades, elbows, and calves, she surmised that she was lying flat on her back, an eerie reminder of the state she had found herself in a little over a week ago. Immediately noticing that the blue and white canopy of open sky and clouds had been replaced by an opaque white blob, she planted her hands into the surface beneath her to push herself up into a sitting position, hoping that whatever force had rendered her unconscious had relented enough that her muscles would have the energy to get her upright once again. She was shocked when her palms were met with a soft surface that gave away a little as her weight pushed into it, very much unlike that of the sand and mud on the island that she had grown accustomed to. Her senses slowly coming to her, she inched her hands across the surface, palms exposed and fingers outstretched, using every nerve at her disposal to assess the nature of her resting place. Her hand leapt up in shock, detecting at once the crisp, sterile feel of fresh linen. With a shaky arm, she strenuously navigated her hand upwards to where her head was now tenuously resting, letting out a stifled gasp when her probing fingers clutched the stalks of soft down feathers through a smooth layer of cotton thread. A pillow!
A bed?
Was it all a dream?
Her hand, which had been basking in the two-fold comfort of the pillow, made its way laterally toward her face and, satisfied that teeth, nose, and eyes were intact, wandered upwards towards an area on the top of her head, remembering that it hosted a magnificently dreadful wound. She winced in pain as the skin grew increasingly tender then stopped mid-examination when her fingertips happened upon the frayed endings of a large bandage, which upon further inspection encompassed nearly the entire top of her head and some of the back. She flopped her hand down at her side and laid still for several moments, mouth slightly agape. The shock of discovering that she had been bandaged up coupled with the revelation that she seemed to be free from her tropical prison was so startling and intense that it left her at a loss for words or actions.
She tried to sit up but, as the case had been last time she found herself in this position, the needed muscles seemed to be totally useless. She tried to talk, hoping to draw the attention of whoever was responsible for her current arrangements, but her voice wouldn't come. Something about this sedation was distinctly different than the last had been. Anesthesia perhaps? She looked down at her arms to see if she could detect an IV or any other evidence of medical intervention. She thought she saw a small tube sticking out of her left forearm but her vision was still far too blurred to make a clear call and she couldn't extend her right arm far enough to get tactile confirmation. All she could discern was that she was stuck, again. Defeated, she let her head gush back into the pillow, enjoying the softness for several moments before her mind began to drift off.
Questions came pouring into her battered mind. She thought about Tim and wondered if he was somewhere nearby. She desperately hoped that, if this was a rescue, then whoever had come to her aid had not left Tim behind. Fully aware of the debilitating weakness governing her facilities at the moment, however, and being totally unaware of where she was and who she was with, she was unable to investigate. In that moment, Rachel silently vowed to go back for him if he'd been left behind. After all, he'd saved her life.
Her stomach rolled a little as she remembered the gruesome crash scene that she'd had the misfortune to encounter and she squinted forcefully, as if she was trying to force out the grim imagery that was now showing on her internal screen. The sight of rotting flesh, the smell of decay, the nameless faces and appendages that had contorted from rigor mortis; these were images that would haunt her until the day she herself joined the ranks of the fallen.
She felt sorry for those souls that were entombed on the island and, for a fleeing moment, wondered why she had deserved deliverance from the horrible accident while they had not. The dark realization that she was not yet "out of the woods" herself put these thoughts quickly to rest, however. Still, there was ample sadness in the recognition that those who lost their lives in the tragedy had families of their own; parents, children, brothers, sisters – a link in a powerful chain destroyed forever. Although never having been a religious person, Rachel said a brief silent prayer for the dead and their families. And in the wake of her supplication, she thought of her own family.
Tears began to soak her eyelashes and trickle down her emaciated cheek as she wondered how Emma had been holding up during all this time. Ross was an excellent father and he loved his daughter as much as a parent could love a child, but she found a lingering doubt in the assumption that rejecting him coupled with her supposed death would have a sizeable impact on him. Maybe in a moment of weakness he told their daughter that mommy was dead.
"She's not old enough to have to deal with death!" she cried, her sobs only audible in the confines of her mind. She felt like such an abandoner and a terrible mother. It couldn't be helped. She knew that none of this accident was voluntary, but she could feel Emma in her heart, in that sacred and cherished way that only a mother can, and the difficulty of bearing the thought brought another fusillade of tears. This time they were tears of guilt.
And speaking of guilt…
Ross…
In her mind's eye she could still see the hope and longing that was in his eyes when he came to the airport. And then, the devastation that lined his beautiful brown orbs with sadness when their final parting words had been spoken. She had dreamt about those eyes almost every day while she was on the island, and while reliving such a moment was emotionally grueling, she found that it ironically kept her a little saner, so she didn't fight it.
Your eyes
As we said our goodbyes
Can't get them out of my mind
And I find I can't hide
From your eyes
The ones that took me by surprise
The night you came into my life
Where there's moonlight I see your eyes
That night she'd run from Barry's wedding and found herself in a coffee shop staring down a new life she never dreamed of, she noticed the way Ross looked at her. It was obvious he was attracted to her, just as she knew he had been when they attended Lincoln High together. His eyes emanated an aura of gentle possessiveness over her, as if he was fully aware of the ethereal way their souls would gravitate together in the years to come well before she'd even felt the first sparks. Granted, it was a little strange at first, but the incredible way she felt after their first kiss and after the first time he'd made love to her commanded her understanding.
How'd I let you slip away
When I'm longing so to hold you?
Now I'd die for one more day
'Cause there's something I should've told you
Loving each other was never easy. There was always a something in their relationship to complicate things, and that something manifested itself in a variety of different ways over the decade in which they'd been friends and lovers. And then friends. And then lovers. But even when they were friends they were never just friends. The soft bitterness that stewed in Rachel's stomach every time Ross would introduce a new girlfriend juxtaposed with the harsher bitterness accenting Ross's verbiage every time Rachel met a new beau was all part of a sick game at which they'd become seasoned pros. The timing was never right either. Deep down there was rarely a serious question about whether or not they'd ultimately end up together – once the timing was right. But while the thrill of all the drama may have had a sadistic appeal to a couple of passionate twenty-six year-olds, it was all but completely jaded to two who were ten years the senior of those impulsive youngsters. Could she really put her stubbornness on the shelf long enough to go after what she knew was right – or as he so appropriately put it 7 years ago on one of the hardest nights of her life – she just couldn't see them "throwing away something we know is so damn good." And it was good. Hell, it is good.
…So damn good…
There's something I should've told you
When I looked into your eyes
Why does distance make us wise?
You were the song all along
And before the song dies
I should tell you
Rachel still didn't know where she was. But, heaven willing, she knew exactly where she was going. Feeling the linen sheets and the soft, feathery pillow one last time, she finally let her guard down and there, on that ambiguous mattress in a white blob, Rachel Green cried. She shed tears of regret for the days wasted being young and stupid. She cried tears for the people who had lost their lives on that God-forsaken island. She cried tears of motherly worry and fear for her precious Emma. She cried tears of anticipation of reuniting with the most precious group of friends a girl could have.
More than anything, though, she cried tears of joy. She was going to see those eyes again, the ones she never should have left.
I should tell you, I should tell you
I have always loved you
You can see it in my eyes
Rachel was going home.