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storyline: Sultry

prompt - dispose

I love airports; the sense of transience, possibility.

The in between is comfortable, like I'm buffered from both the past and the future. I recall that movie with Tom Hanks, when he lived in an airport. He seemed pretty content.

The garbled flight announcement overhead reminds me that I, however, cannot live here.

A quick glance at my phone: my flight begins boarding in approximately twenty five minutes. Just enough time to finish my coffee and read a bit. I grab my Kindle and reabsorb myself in to the book I started on the flight down.

"I prfer the iPad, personally."

I look up at Edward Cullen. The similarity between his face and my dead boyfriend's pierces me again. I wonder how long it will take for this to fade.

It's a moot point, though. After today, I'll probably never see him again.

His smile wilts, and I realize that my wordless stare is rude and kind of weird. I manage a smile. "Yeah, well… e-readers are supposedly easier on your eyes."

He shrugs. "So I've heard."

"I'd love an iPad, though."

"They're pretty great. I use mine for everything."

An awkward moment passes before he clears his throat. Seems he's always the one to initiate; I never know what to say around him.

His eyes, they slay me with sadness. I wonder if he sleeps.

"So you're headed home?" he asks.

I nod, finishing the last of my coffee. "You?"

"Yeah. My gate's right there." He points. "San Francisco."

This surprises me. I'd assumed he lived in Seattle, like Masen. "Huh. I'm in Oakland."

"No kidding." He smiles again, nodding.

There are differences, I see now. He walks different. His eyes crinkle more when he smiles, and they're vividly green whereas Masen's were bluer. His hair is longer, messier, but he dresses nicer. A little preppy, but in a good way.

A thought occurs to me. "Have you lived in San Francisco long?"

"All through college," he affirms.

"Did he ever visit you there?"

"All the time." Besides sadness, now I see pity in his eyes as well. Masen never did manage to cross the bridge to see me when he went to visit his brother. I realize more and more how little I must have meant to him.

Sighing, I stand up. People are beginning to queue at my gate.

"Well, this is it I guess…" I sling my bag over my shoulder.

He nods. "Have a good flight."

"You too."

Have a good life.

We've been in the air for a while when I retrieve the note from my bag.

It's been burning a hole in my purse since the funeral yesterday, but I haven't been able to bring myself to read it till now.

I suspect that this might be what I've been waiting for: the letter coming clean about the other girl. Or some sort of explanation, anything that makes what happened, seem not so bad.

Smoothing the paper down on to the little pull-down tray in front of me, I let my eyes wander over the familiar slants and curves of Masen's handwriting. I remember the first note ever, mid way through our senior year of college. He'd slid into the seat beside me, late to class. I'd taken one look at him and deemed him the hottest guy on campus, maybe even town.

He caught me staring and wrote me a note.

Hi

Nothing epic, but enough to make me blush and smile.

By the time we separated, him for grad school and me to return home so I could catch up on missed credits at a local college, we were inseparable. Best friends that were lovers.

That's what makes it hurt so much now. He was never just my boyfriend; he was so much more. Maybe part of me hoped he was the One. I don't know. We hadn't gotten to that point quite yet. But I loved him, and he said he loved me. The first time he told me was in a note.

I open the one in front of me, prepared to receive the last bit of closure I need.

Except, there isn't any.

It's just like all the rest, talking about classes and his parents and visiting home for summer.

Well, he visited home all right…just not the way he'd expected.

I reread the note a hundred times, as if repetition will change the words.

There's no guilty admission, apology, or even a sign that anything was ever amiss. It's all business as usual.

And it pisses me off.

The first thing I do when I get back to my apartment is lock the door.

The second thing is get the box where I've kept all of his letters and notes. I add the most recent to the pile and then dump the whole thing in the trash. I kind of want to be dramatic and burn it, but I don't have matches or a lighter and anyway it would be a nuisance for the smoke alarm to go off at eleven p.m.

A photo of the two of us catches my eye; I yank it from the fridge and dispose of it.

It's ridiculous to be this pissed off and hurt by someone who is dead, but I really don't give a damn.

Later in bed, the anger dissolves back in to grief, and I let myself cry for him again.

It's the last time.

i am so touched by the reviews for chapter one. please know i read and smiled (rather sappily and even moronically) at each and every one. responding to reviews will be a challenge this time around but i will when i can - i love you guys. it feels really good to be back; i'd missed writing and posting, even though the break was very necessary.

so. i should be able to post daily but if i can't... remember there's a feisty baby (Tiny Tyrant) running the show around here.