Author: Patrick

Story: She Didn't Get Off the Plane

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Chapter 17

There are some things in life we can never be truly ready for, moments that reach deeper inside us than anything else ever has and make us feel emotions we never knew existed. Ask any new parent how it felt to hold their newborn baby for the first time. Ask any mourning parent who has just watched their child's body be lowered into the ground. Ask any soldier who has returned home safely from a battle; ask the families of those who did not. These moments are relatively scarce (God willing), but they are truly pivotal. They shape our lives for the decades to come. They change our whole belief system; what we thought was important in life is suddenly meaningless and all that we took for granted comes crashing down. And in the ashes, we are born anew, our minds and hearts shaped by these moments that will forever brighten our days or haunt our nights. They are with us always.

They are our lives.

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Ross was irritated by the sudden presence of the hand accosting his shoulder at first, taking it to be a nosy groundskeeper or perhaps a wayward mourner trying to find a soul to share his or her overwhelming load of grief. Ross was already on edge among other things and this intrusion only fueled his exasperation. Did it not make sense that in a place where souls are supposed to be at peace that those who came to visit should be given the same courtesy? His conceptions changed, however, when his daughter's hand was magnetically wrenched towards the one on his shoulder, as if the action was instinctual. It was then that he whirled around; concerned not only with protecting his daughter from any potential wrong-doers, but with the fact that something greater suddenly seemed to be at stake. This feeling that had so quickly pierced Ross's defenses and settled into the core of his soul suggested that the impending moment would be unequivocally more important than anything he'd been through in the last few weeks.

Or perhaps in the last 35 years.

Ross stumbled to his feet cradling Emma securely and turned 180 degrees. When he saw the unmistakable visage before him he immediately blanched and was sent reeling backwards in shock, stumbling over Rachel's headstone and nearly losing his footing in the process. Emma squealed and giggled in excitement during all of this, taking it to be one of her father's games where he'd twirl her about in the air. This was anything but. Ross blinked several times and rubbed his eyes briefly with his free hand, trying to convince himself that the apparition he'd just seen was nothing more than a concoction of his grief-stricken mind. But when his vision came into focus, she was still there.

Rachel.

It was quite a different Rachel than the last one he'd seen when he tried to convince her to stay at Newark Airport. Her figure was noticeably thinner; the subtle protrusions from her clothes that marked the locations of clavicle and ribs were considerably more apparent than normal. Her skin was tanner as well and yet exhibited only a marginal portion the glow that it typically possessed. A wound cloth bandage on her head signified the trauma that had been inflicted there. She looked ghastly, and Ross spent a moment considering if it were possible that he was looking at a specter. But the face before him told a different story, one that he'd memorized years ago and could recite in his sleep if need be. There was a certain ethereal vivacity to her facial features that was so inherently Rachel and so unmistakably alive that it made Ross's doubts began to dissipate before he was even consciously aware of it. Her bottom lip was trembling, and her mouth looked to be stuck somewhere between a smile and a sob, but the muted voice within spoke in a tongue that was clearly discernable to those that knew Rachel best. Her eyes, wherein the same message was profoundly restated, were rife with signs of fatigue and yet glowed with an intense fervor that Ross had never beheld in all the years he'd known her. The message was short and simple by its verbal nomenclature but more extensive and meaningful intrinsically than all the words uttered in a day, a week, a month, or in some cases, a lifetime: She was alive.

The tension hung like a diaphanous curtain between the two, who were both now caught in a strange sort of stalemate, each one probing the other for some sort of sign that it was okay to make the next move. Ross decided that he should be the one to make the move. However it had happened, Rachel had obviously come a long way to be standing in front of him right now, if it wasn't some kind of dream, and the least he could do was return the favor by closing the last few steps. He took two steps towards her so that they were standing only a couple feet apart. She seemed greatly affected by even this diminutive action and begun to fidget with her hands and her eyes began to well up, clearly wanting to react in some way but seeming totally perplexed as to how. Her eyes kept darting from Ross's face to Emma's and Ross quickly noted it. He suddenly realized the immense weight this situation must've been putting on the woman before him. The three shared a common bond: Father, mother, and daughter. But the relationship between "mommy" and "daddy" was so far beyond the simple nuclear relationship transparently implied by their titles. As much as he wanted to run into her arms and kiss her deeply and tell her everything that'd been on his mind since he thought she'd died and his life got twisted around, he knew that it would be totally unfair to let all those expectations come crashing down on her at such a fragile moment. If the inexplicable had really happened and she was really back, then he had to be fair and he had to do this right. The bond between Rachel and Emma was pure and innocent and simple. The one with Ross was often times anything but.

"Rachel," he whispered, the word as much a question as it was an affirmation, an attempt to confirm something he already knew in his mind but was afraid to allow his heart to believe. The words were stretched out and uneven in their short duration and thus made it apparent that even this exchange had taken his breath away.

She bit her lip for a moment before she responded. When she did, it was with a teary nod at first.

"Yes," she croaked. The small word, so seemingly innocuous, was everything Ross had been waiting to hear. To him, she had not just declared her life with the word, but his too. After these last couple weeks in the dark, there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. And that light was the same one that lighted every dark corridor in his life: Rachel Karen Green.

"Do you want Mommy to hold you Emma?" Ross asked his little daughter, who had started to grow impatient and wiggled around a little in her father's arms.

"Okay!" exclaimed the toddler, obviously very pleased with her daddy's suggestion. Ross took a step and closed the remaining distance. He smiled at Rachel's face and arched an inquiring eyebrow to which she nodded slightly, confirming that she was ready.

"Mommy! Hugs!" Emma squealed as her little arms stretched towards her mother's frame. At her daughter's command, Rachel opened her arms and, in a moment of true, unadulterated, unparalleled bliss, mother and daughter were reunited.

The moment was surreal; Emma would probably forget it in a few years but Rachel would remember it every day for the rest of her life. She held her daughter gently but securely, taking in every single sensation— the way she smelled, the way the child felt resting on her chest, the clothes Emma was wearing, how her hair looked and felt— everything. She tried to stifle her sobs as not to alarm her daughter, but generally failed. Ross, temporarily reduced to the role spectator (which he undertook with great understanding) had already begun to break down a little himself, but did so shamelessly, letting a few tears run down his cheeks before wiping them away.

The embrace lasted several moments before Rachel raised her head from Emma's shoulder and looked at Ross again, tears and all. For some reason he felt a little silly having been caught crying and laughed in spite of himself to which she responded with a knowing smile. She reached her hand out towards him. He contemplated for a second, and then took it. When their hands touched it was electric, so much so that they had to ease into it before being able to tolerate the overwhelming joy that came from it. Both secretly longed for more but also knew that, despite all the uncertainty to come in the days ahead, their time would come soon.

"Take me home, Ross," Rachel requested. There was something about the way she said the word 'home' that gave Ross renewed hope for them, as if she'd premeditated it to mean more than just an apartment. Normally he'd think she meant Joey's, but there was something clearly written between the lines that dismissed that notion before it even came into question. He put his arm around her and guided her towards the cemetery's gate.

As they walked back towards the car, Ross found himself wondering about lot of things. He wondered if she was back for good, or was this just a brief fantasy before the next flight to Paris. He wondered how she'd survived the wreck and wondered what forces had made her return possible. He wondered if her return meant there was another chance for them to be together. He'd noticed the bandage on her head and her frail appearance and wondered if she was okay. He knew that many of these questions not only could wait but had to wait. The details of the crash would inevitably come up once they got a chance to put Emma down for a while and talk. The other questions about "them" would probably answer themselves, he figured, if he was patient and listened clearly enough. So he omitted them all for now, save one.

"I'm okay, Ross" Rachel said. It was quiet for a moment as Rachel's lips formed a smile, the joy behind which was known only to herself at that moment.

"I'm going to be just fine."

And, for once in her life, she really believed it. Something in that statement seemed to be an admission that she hadn't exactly intended, but didn't regret making in the least. She looked up at Ross, who smiled back at her, seemingly on the verge of understanding exactly what she'd meant. He suddenly stopped when they got to the gate.

"Did you take a cab here?" Ross asked. There was a sense of guilt in his voice that revealed that he feared she indeed had, before she'd even formulated an answer.

"No," she said, laughing a little as if she found the idea totally absurd. Given the length of the cab ride that would've been required, it actually kind of was. "Monica and Chandler drove me. When we saw Carol's car, we assumed it meant that you were here so they left." Ross nodded blankly, accepting this explanation. In truth he felt bad that the three had gone through all the trouble to find him.

"I hope you're planning on giving me a ride home, by the way," Rachel added, grinning flirtatiously at him. Ross made a pensive face, pretending to be contemplating his answer. He pulled her closer to him and she giggled a little, not worried about the consequences but rather enjoying the closeness she'd been longing for. They walked the remaining distance arm in arm, talking to each other and Emma, enjoying being a family again. When they got to the car, Ross put Emma in the car seat and then emerged.

"Now that both your arms are free," he said suggestively, extending his arms to her. She threw her arms around him and buried her f ace in his chest without the slightest pause. They reveled in the joy that they'd both feared was lost. The tears flowed again from both sides, both reaching the full awareness in the arms of one another of what they'd almost lost, and what fate had obviously been trying to tell them to hold on to.

"I need to tell you something Ross," Rachel intoned into his chest. She pulled away just enough so that she could look directly into his eyes. She did not have to barter for his full attention; it was hers immediately. "That stuff you said to me at the airport before I got on the plane, I just want to say—."

Ross interrupted her before she could finish. "Rachel, it's okay," he apologized, dejectedly, "I had no right to spring all of that on you—"

It was Rachel's turn to interrupt.

"I love you too, Ross."

Silence. Slowly, the awkward haze lifted and the smile began to work its way back onto Ross's face. He pulled her back into his arms and held her for another minute before pulling back, his expression blank this time.

"So what does this mean?" he questioned. Rachel was almost touched by the fact that he seemed hesitant to accept her words for their full meaning, as if he was protecting her and them from the pain that had arisen from so many past failures. Rachel shrugged.

"It means we love each other. We've got time to figure out the rest." Ross silently nodded in agreement. He didn't know if they were picking up from where they "left off" or if they were simply starting over. In either case, this was certainly a new beginning. As he reached for her door handle, he couldn't help but to worry a little. Even if it wasn't to death, losing Rachel again might be more than he could handle.

"Are you sure?" he asked sincerely. And she genuinely thought about it for a moment; not just to humor his concern but because she knew she owed to herself. It only took an instant, however. She'd had plenty of time to think about all this. There was a lot of sordid history to deal with, a lot of ghosts and demons that had haunted them and tried to destroy them. And somehow, when the smoke cleared, it was still Ross and Rachel, or Rachel and Ross, or however you wanted to juxtapose their names; it just made sense. Rachel knew it made sense to him too even though he was often too damn stubborn to admit it. Even as he asked the question, the disparity between the hesitance in his voice and the longing in his brown eyes was apparent. The contemplation was over nearly as soon as it began. Rachel smiled.

"Ross?" she asked. He raised his eyebrows to signal that he was listening.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and kiss me."

And he did.