Sick to my stomach. That's how I felt. Partially because I had already thrown up twice on both planes. An hour before I boarded for Toronto I took two Xanax that I had stolen from Karlina. The minute I had swallowed them I felt relaxed. That should've been the warning signal.
I boarded the plane and found my seat, right next to the wing. Greaaaat. I squeezed myself towards the window seat and immediately pulled the blinds down. I gripped the arms rest so hard my knuckles went white. I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. I promised myself I would get through this unharmed, okay, fine. Alive.
I was one of the first people to board the plane, so there was quite a lot of time to waste. I glanced through the Skymall magazine and obsessively flipped through the safety manuel. After the tenth time, I was sure I could do the safety demonstration myself.
It had been a while for anyone to sit in the seats next to me and for an odd reason that made me feel a bit better. Not cramped. If I needed to roam the cabin I didn't have to awkwardly wake a sleeping business person from their nap and explain how my nervous bladder needed to be emptied.
I sunk into the cheap pleather seat. I asked the friendly old woman behind me if she would mind if I leaned back a bit. She said no and proceeded to tell me about her grandchildren in Toronto and offered me a piece of pocket candy. I declined but thanked her for the offer.
Yep, I was feeling pretty good. All those years of being scared to board a plane seemed ridiculous. This wasn't so bad! Then the fattest, most greasy look man I have ever seen sits down beside me and takes up both the middle and aisle seat. My heart picks up. My jaw jittering. Cold sweat beaded down my brow. Nope I couldn't do this. No. No. No. NO. I had to get off. I had to get off NOW. I undid my seat belt and stood up, but the flight attended told me to sit down. They hard started the safety demonstration.
"Listen, I've flipped through the pamphlet a hundred times in the last twenty minutes. I know what to do if we crash in ocean or what to do if the cabin loses oxygen. Please, just let me-"
"Sir, I'm going to ask you again, please sit down and put your seat belt on!" The flight attendant croaked. She had obviously never dealt with a teenager on the verge of a mental breakdown on a flight before.
"Oh GOD! What if we do crash? What if we lose oxygen?" My lungs felt like they were being crushed. Was I losing oxygen? I couldn't catch my breath, all I was doing was taking sharp breaths in. Tears escaped my eyes as I clawed at the plastic cabin walls.
"Sir, we will get you off the plane, just one second, please!" She tried to urge the fat man beside me to get up but he was having trouble.
"No! I have to do this! I've planned for so long! I need to find them…" the saliva in my mouth started to become thin and I knew what was going to happen. I grabbed the little paper bag from the storage compartment in front my seat and proceeded to vomit nothing but spit and pepsi and pills. I collapsed back down into my seat and wiped my mouth with sleeve. I handed the traumatized flight attended my baggie of vomit and announced that I was ready to go.
I slept through most of that flight, except for when an older flight attended would come by every now and then and make sure that I was OK.
I was awake when we landed, but I was too dazed to be freaked out. I grabbed my computer bag and leaned against the cabin wall while two stewardesses pulled the man beside me out of his seat.
I was the last one off. The flight attendant I had vomited in front of glared at me as I exited to the plane. A girl beside her, presumably her friend, laughed and gestured for me to call her.
The plane from Toronto to New York I was slightly more prepared for. I didn't look through the safety manuel and informed the steward about my episode on the Vancouver flight. He laughed and brought me a free ginger ale and cookies.
Towards the middle of the flight I got up and went to the washroom and found out just how ridiculously small airplane bathrooms are. I did my best to navigate my body in the tiny space just as the pilots hit some turbulence. I jolted around the room and hit my head off the wall and then vomited in the toilet once more…
By the time I got to LaGuardia, I smelt like fat guy and puke. I hadn't eaten real food for 24 hours and I was tired. Oh so tired.
I stood at the gates and waited for my luggage. An app on my phone alerted me about a sever thunderstorm warning. I thought nothing of it, it was gorgeous outside.
My heart fluttered as I saw my red suitcase with the broken handle. I skipped towards it and caught the attention of two giggling teenage girls. It reminded me of the kiss. My kiss. Ryan's kiss. It wasn't mine. I heaved the suitcase off the belt and stepped back waiting for the last one. That kiss. I always had been attracted to Ryan, but not at the same time. He was Jennifer's boyfriend! He was straight, or so I thought. He wasn't hot but he wasn't ugly. It was his eyes. Blue eyes. They made me weak at the knees but they weren't enough to save that bad kiss.
I thought about Ryan. His nose was crooked. His skin was scarred. He cheated on his girlfriend with me. His hair was way too wiry. His eyes were muddled grey. Ryan? Ryan who.
The striped black suitcase made its way around the conveyor belt and I had to assure a tired looking middle-aged man that it was in fact Faryn Culley's. Mine. He let go of the handle and scoffed at me before shuffling towards his equally-tired looking wife and kids. I heard him say, "What kind of stupid person names their kid Faryn?" to his group.
I had never had a "boyfriend" before. Or a girlfriend for that matter. I had always been bullied in school so I never really got close to anyone. I was that kid, the one who looked normal but was apparently deeply disturbed. I didn't think I was disturbed. Just me. Maybe that wasn't such a great thing…
I pushed myself through the glass doors into New York city. The sky was clear and the birds sang happy tunes against the wind. Thunderstorm? Please. I dragged the suitcases behind me as I looked for the Grand Central shuttle bus stop.
I leaned against the wall of the airport and waited for the shuttle to arrive. I watched as high-class business men and women entered yellow taxis and families wearing matching polo-jean combinations outfits board the buses to see Wicked on Broadway. I wanted to walk through Central park, Coney Island, the streets of SoHo and fall in love with a starving but charming artist.
Their are more important things at hand.
I thought about the Everafters who walked the streets of New York. I wondered if I would recognize them. Would I be able to differentiate them from everyone else? I had never actually met an Everafter before. After Wilhelm brought them to America they never really left. I guess they couldn't.
I would love to see Faerie or what was left of it. Queen Titania and King Oberon had always intrigued me ever since I saw a performance of Midsummer Night's Dream at an Arts college with my parents. But didn't King Oberon die? He was killed I believe, I guess the title of "King" went to his son.
The shuttle bus pulled up to the stop and the driver threw everyone's suitcases in trailer hitched to the bus. I took a seat near the back and put my headphones in my ears. Two more hours. Two more hours and I would be in FerryPort Landing. It hadn't quite set in yet. But the fact that I survived two planes by myself did and I wriggled my toes in my sneakers. I felt proud of a 16-year-old boy named Faryn Culley.
I smiled at the buildings and people that whizzed past the shuttle window.
I know you're alive, throw me into the fire
Man I should have known, I should have known
God damn you're alive, threw me into the fire
Man I should have known, I should have known
But I, I, I
My body's full of guts and other stuff
I, I, I
My body's full enough
To pull myself out, to pull myself out
To pull myself out, to pull myself out
Disclaimer: song used in this chapter is "Guts" by Alex Winston.