Author: Patrick
Title: She Didn't Get off the Plane
AN: Hi folks. I'm sorry this has taken so long to get done. It's taken me a long time to even get close to the right frame of mind to finish this story. I'm still not all the way there yet, but I want to wrap this up. The ending isn't turning out to be nearly the quality I wanted it to be, so I apologize if it's a let-down. I've also realized that to end this properly, it's going to take a little more writing, so I'm going to break this into two chapters and there will probably be an epilogue of some sort.
To all who've reviewed: Your thoughts, comments, and criticism have meant a lot to me. Thank you.
Thank you all for reading.
Chapter 16
Silence suffused the automobile's cabin as Phoebe's and Joey's heads jerked in unison towards a slack-jawed, awe-stricken Rachel. A mere acquaintance would've dismissed Rachel's plea, choosing instead to accuse fatigue and confusion to be the cause of the sudden and unexplained outburst, but to the friends who knew her best it was obvious that something much more extraordinary was behind the action. Before either friend could get a word in, Rachel's hand was already upon the driver's shoulder, followed quickly by more pleas.
"Mr. Driver?" Rachel frantically entreated. The driver's eyes rolled momentarily from the road to the rearview mirror, signaling that he was listening but obviously not terribly interested. "We have to turn around," she repeated.
"No can do, ma'am," the driver responded detachedly. The apathy in his voice was nearly condescending but was met with grim understanding by the more cool-headed twosome seated to Rachel's right. The car and driver were military-appointed and no doubt under orders to deliver the passengers detour-free to one destination.
"You don't understand,' Rachel insisted, her emotions pushing her voice near the breaking point. "It's my daughter…I just need to…"
"I have orders, ma'am," the driver sternly interjected.
"I don't care about your stupid orders!" Rachel yelled, losing all sense of restraint. Tears of desperation began flowing rampantly down her cheeks. She looked to her friends, allowing the heartbreak of defeat in her eyes to beg them for some sort of deliverance. Her looks were returned by those of the deepest concern and confusion. Joey looked as if he was about to say something, but before any objections could be made, or explanations demanded, the car suddenly came to a halt.
"Bedford and Grove," confirmed the driver, "This is the end of the line."
"Look! It's Chandler and Monica!" exclaimed Phoebe, pointing to a couple standing by the wall of the familiar apartment building. Phoebe knew fully that they their presence was arranged but feigned surprise, hoping to distract Rachel long enough to get her out of the car and defuse the confrontation. There would be plenty of time to search for understanding later. Besides, Phoebe still hadn't dismissed the thought that maybe Rachel's tirade in the car was meaningless anyway.
The distraction worked well enough. Rachel lumbered out of the car, still very much in a daze, and approached her former roommate and her husband as fast as her tired legs could carry her. Monica noticed her first and handed her sleeping child to Chandler who received the handoff awkwardly, because he had already been holding the other one. She then dashed towards the approaching figure with Chandler following slowly in tow, stopping when only feet were between them.
"Hey you," Monica said, her voice so quiet that it threatened to vanish into the bustle of the city. She looked at Rachel long and hard, the realization that this was really happening had yet to set in entirely. The signs of exhaustion were apparent, but Rachel smiled in spite of them. Monica couldn't help but notice how tiny and fragile Rachel looked and gazed hesitantly at the bandage on her friend's head. Both women had tears brimming in their eyes.
"May I?" she asked faintly, holding her arms out.
"You better," Rachel squeaked as she flung herself into the waiting embrace.
The two reunited best friends hugged for what seemed like minutes as they wet each other's shaking shoulders with salty tears. Monica eventually pulled back, but held onto Rachel's arms with her hands. She looked over her shoulder at her husband and two friends who'd been observing this interaction and immediately noted that all three were wiping their eyes. She gave Rachel another quick squeeze and then turned to her husband.
"Your turn," she beamed, and held out her arms so that Chandler could free up his. Phoebe assisted by holding Jack while Monica took Erica into her arms. Chandler took a few steps and closed the short gap between him and Rachel. He stood before her for a long moment and said nothing, obviously having trouble deciding on how to handle the situation.
"Come here," indicated Rachel, saving him the trouble. She held her arms out and Chandler moved into them, encircling her with his own. The moment was surreal to him. He still didn't speak, but Rachel felt him tremble a few times, as if he was struggling not to cry. When they pulled apart, he was smiling at her, as if the hug was all the validation he'd been searching for only moments prior.
"I guess we should make this reunion complete," Joey suggested, motion towards Ross's building. "Did you talk to him yet, Chan?"
Chandler shoved his hands in his pocket and became suddenly dejected. He knew how much seeing Ross and Emma right now meant to Rachel and hated having to let her down.
"No," he conceded. Right as we pulled up I saw him getting into a woman's car." Rachel seemed mortified by his revelation for a second before her expression relaxed. "I think it was Carol," he continued, noting his friend's brief look of concern, "But, anyway, he had Emma with him and they drove off before I could catch up and flag him down." Rachel frowned. As wonderful as the moment was, it wasn't anywhere near complete without her 'family' to share it with.
"Do you know which way they went?" Rachel inquired, "Because on the way in, I got this really weird feeling and I could've sworn we passed right by them."
"Well they pulled off going that direction," Chandler informed, pointing a finger westward, "but this isn't exactly a one-way city."
"But that's not the way he goes to work," Rachel said, trying to rule out possibilities. "Where would he go that he'd need a car?"
The gang stood pensively for a moment, all considering different destinations. Phoebe suddenly smiled.
"Ooh Monica!" she exclaimed, "Why don't you try calling your parents?" Joey and Rachel smiled in approval of the suggestion while Monica passed Erica back to Chandler and then proceeded to dig through her purse for her cell phone. She withdrew it and dialed. After several tense minutes she lowered the phone dejectedly.
"No answer," she explained. Groans and sighs resonated throughout the group. "Back to the drawing board."
The quintet was silent again for a few moments before someone spoke up again. This time it was Chandler.
"Oh my God," he gasped. "I think I've got it."
Ross silently traversed the consecrated grounds of a small cemetery. Emma had gotten drowsy on the lengthy car ride from the city to this quaint mainland location and was sleeping soundly in her father's arms. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked but was not focusing on anything in particular. The cemetery was situated within a small grove of trees, the limbs of which were appropriately bare. If one gazed eastward through the tangled wooden framework of the branches, the haze-obscured New York City skyline was clearly visible in the distance. The scenery was rather breathtaking, albeit sad.
The weary professor stopped as he reached the crest of a hill, only half-aware of where he was and his reason for being there. He let his vision spill across the periphery, absorbing the peace of the serene landscape for all it was worth. It was beautiful— the headstones, the patchwork quilt of grass juxtaposed with freshly upturned dirt, the leafless trees— each entity existed in perfect communion with the others around it.
This fact was of little comfort to Ross. He reflected upon how hard it'd been to even think of saying goodbye to Rachel at the airport a little over a week ago— those feelings were nothing compared to what he was experiencing now— and he thought of how much different this kind of goodbye was. And he thought of how he'd said goodbye to Rachel in one way or another too many times in his life, but there was rarely even an illusion of finality in any of them. This was different; too different.
A cold gust blew across the grounds causing Ross to shiver. He pulled Emma tightly to him with both arms, trying to shield her from the unusually cruel Spring wind. He scanned the layout around him for a minute until he saw it. The terrain winded downward towards the southeast corner of the cemetery. There was a black metal fence, in front of which was a statuesque oak tree. If he remembered correctly, his destination was a few feet in front of that tree. He took a long, deep breath before his feet once again began to move.
He looked at each elegantly carved tombstone he passed. They were mostly made of carved granite or marble, but they were all some shade of gray. That observation symbolized such a poignant punctuation to life, Ross thought; that in the end, even though one may have led a life painted with vibrant colors, in death one existed only as some shade of gray— somewhere in between light and darkness, in between color and lack thereof. How could the woman who'd colored his entire world belong in a place like this? It just didn't fit.
He'd passed by the majority of the tombs and was only a couple feet away from the imposing oak when he stopped, knowing that he was nearby but uncertain as to exactly where she was supposed to be. He scanned the names on each stone a number of times, coming up empty handed at first. In truth, he'd probably subconsciously avoided it the first time around. On the second go, he found her name, emblazoned on a rectangular black marble headstone:
Rachel Karen Green
Beloved daughter, sister, mother, friend
1969 – 2004
Ross crouched down and stroked the smooth surface of the stone with his free hand. It was so quiet around that he could hear his skin dragging against it. He wasn't accustomed to being able to pick out such barely audible things living in a big city. He lowered himself onto the ground until he was sitting "Indian-style" with Emma still nestled on his shoulder. He hated saying goodbye this way. Her body wasn't even here, just a rock that commemorated her existence. But it was all he had, and she deserved anything he could give her now. He thought long and hard about what to say before opening his mouth. When he finally did, he spoke softly, trying to avoid waking his daughter.
"Hi Rachel. It's me, Ross. I'm sorry I didn't come to see you sooner, but it's been really hard trying to balance work and Emma and my feelings and I just…well you know I'm not exactly famous for doing things right the first time.
When I decided to come here, I tried to sit down and think of the perfect words. But then I realized something. When it comes to the matter of "us" I've spent way too much of the last seven years sitting down and thinking and I never said the right words then either. So I'm just gonna give honesty I try for once in my life, Rach. It's the least I can do for you—for us."
Suddenly, Emma started wriggling around in Ross's arms, roused by some unknown impetus. "Mommy!" she squealed, piercing the hallowed silence of the graveyard and startling her father. He chuckled at his own fright for a second while he considered his response to her outburst.
"Yes, that's right, we're talking to mommy," he said sweetly. He rubbed her back gently, trying to settle her back down so he could finish his farewell.
"Mommy! Mommy!" repeated the excited toddler. Ross held Emma up in front of him, looking at her little face perplexedly.
"What is it, sweetie?" he asked, trying to decipher his daughter's sudden outburst. As a seasoned parent, Ross knew that trying to get to the bottom of these cryptic requests could be a tedious part of the whole deal. He also bitterly conceded to the fact that these outbursts for 'mommy' would be a painful part of daily life until Emma was old enough to understand where her mother really was.
"Mommy!" said Emma yet again, this time pointing a little finger in Ross's direction. He looked down at his sweater for a second before realizing that she wasn't pointing at him. She was focused on something else altogether, something behind him. He was about to turn around and investigate when he felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder.