Checked Again (Checked Series)

by Jennifer Jamelli

  Mandy whispers now, “Callie. Are you sure you don’t want me to come? I can just go try to buy—”

  Eyes still closed. I shake my head back and forth blindly. Blindly but emphatically.

  Mandy whispers again, “I don’t want to leave you like this.”

  I know, Mandy. I know. But—

  A microphoned voice interrupts my thoughts. I listen as a woman politely asks all passengers to begin entering a certain gate to board a certain plane. A plane with a destination of Florida.

  My plane. My gate. My time to move. I know it.

  I keep my eyes closed, but there is no point; closing them isn’t holding back anything—my face is pretty much a crying mess.

  And now arms are circling around me. Mandy is holding me against her, rocking me slightly back and forth. Just like Mom would have done it if she was here.

  Mom. Dad.

  If the plane has a malfunction and crashes, then—

  CALLIE. STOP. STOP. STOP.

  Without counting, I yank myself out of Mandy’s comforting hug. I push open my wet, dripping eyes and work to put somewhat of a grateful smile on my lips.

  Mandy nods in understanding. I think…I hope she understands that I can’t speak right now…and understands that I appreciate everything she’s done for me this morning…

  She nods again and again, but she looks miserable. Her—

  The announcer lady starts talking again…essentially telling passengers not already at the gate to get moving.

  That means me. I have to go.

  Mandy is still nodding. She slowly takes my travel bag off of her arm and places it securely over my shoulder.

  My throat is still too tight…too out of commission to allow me to speak, but I quickly mouth two phrases to Mandy.

  “Thank you” comes out first and “Be careful” follows shortly after.

  Mandy continues to nod, an anxious, deflated, resigned look covering her face. She hands me a piece of paper (my ticket?) and points ahead…presumably to where I need to go. Where I have to go.

  Okay, Callie. Okay. Okay. One. Two. Three.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  I move my legs and body around, turning toward the direction of my gate…the one they’ve announced twice now. It takes me about thirty-six medium counts of three to carefully make my way through the people around me to get up to the counter where—

  “There you are, Calista.”

  Dr. Gabriel is right behind me. Please don’t touch me. Please don’t notice the makeup that must be running all over my face. Please don’t mention it if you do happen to notice…

  One. Two. Three. I turn around slowly, looking down. Before I even make it the whole way around, he grabs the plane ticket out of my hand and moves to walk ahead of me.

  Then he starts talking, but not to me. “Okay, Miss. She’s here. Miss?”

  The twenty-something blonde standing behind the counter turns to face us. Her head morphs into two heads and she starts speaking in slow motion and her voice sounds like a fire alarm and—

  And perhaps that’s just in my head. I clench my eyes shut for a moment to try to clear my vision. I then open them back up. Now everything is even worse. Everything is spinning.

  The next few minutes pass in a hazy blur…the blonde asking to see my ID, me digging it clumsily out of my purse and holding it up for her to see…Dr. Gabriel leaning way too far over the counter as he talks to the blonde…me putting my ID away, taking a moment to be grateful that she didn’t touch it…me looking down and picking up one foot…picking up my other foot…picking up the first foot…picking up the other foot…and following Dr. Gabriel {while at the same time listening to the echoey voice in my head as it repeats Abby’s favorite childhood story: Dr. Seuss’s The Foot Book}.

  Every step gets us closer to boarding the plane. Every step makes my travel bag heavier. Every step makes my throat close up a little more…makes my eyes wetter, fuzzier. Or is it more fuzzy?

  Fuzzier. Step. More fuzzy. Step. Fuzzier. Step. More fuzzy. Step. Fuzzier. Step. More—

  Dr. Gabriel’s feet slow in front of me. My head and eyes move up as my body starts to cave into itself. Arms slouched forward. Chest and stomach pushing down, pressing me into the floor. So much pressure.

  In a blurry haze, I watch as Dr. Gabriel steps onto the plane. A cold sweat breaks out all—

  “Calista? What’s wrong? Come on.” Dr. Gabriel says his words authoritatively, somewhat impatiently.

  Afraid that he might see my mess of a face…more afraid that he might try to grab my hand or something, I count to three and somehow…somehow…somehow…step onto the plane.

  And…people are everywhere. Close together. In seats, in the aisle. So close together.

  I scrunch myself into myself as much as possible, pulling my travel bag and purse even closer to my body.

  Please don’t let me bump up against these people. Please don’t let these people accidentally spit…or sneeze…or anything…as I walk past. Please just help me get to my seat.

  I walk behind Dr. Gabriel, almost shivering now as my body accumulates layers of cold sweat under my damp clothes.

  Just keep walking, Callie. Keep walking. Keep walking.

  Please let someone be checking the plane. The engine. The gears. The fuel. Please don’t let us crash. Please don’t make this be it. Please—

  Dr. Gabriel stops in the aisle and motions to two seats on our left. Two cushy looking seats. My head falls down as I feel a piercing burn in my eyes, a throb on my forehead. Please don’t let there be any needles in my seat.

  Somehow, I take a few careful steps and place myself in the tiny space between my seat and the back of the chair in front of me. Clutching my purse and travel bag. Not touching anything else.

  “Calista, let me put your bag up.” Dr. Gabriel is holding out his arms, waiting for me to let him touch my travel bag. With his hands. His hands that have been all over how many different—

  His hands are moving closer to me. And closer. And clo—

  I bring up my arms and tear the travel bag off of my shoulder to give it to him, trying to keep my head down and—

  “What’s wrong, Calista? You look awful.” He sounds impatient again. I’m pretty sure he’s mad at me for riding with Mandy to the airport. And I don’t care…

  I push my head down further and manage to spit out a few words. “Bad allergy day.” My throat catches as I talk, but Dr. Gabriel doesn’t seem to hear it, or he just assumes it’s an allergy symptom, or…I don’t know.

  What I do know is that I probably have to sit down soon. In the cushy airplane seat. With the hidden needles. And then the plane is going to take off. And crash. And—

  Tears are now just streaming freely from my eyes. Over my cheeks. Landing on my lips, my chin, my neck. I turn away from Dr. Gabriel, who is now talking to a short-skirted flight attendant.

  Head down. Down. Down. Down.

  Please let—

  No, Callie. My head is so far down that I really shouldn’t be praying right now. I know my prayers won’t possibly go where they should go.

  But I can’t look up…not right now…

  But I need to pray or else the plane will probably crash and…

  But I can’t pray right now and—

  {At the exact same time, Imagine Dragons begins “Demons” and Jewel starts “Who Will Save Your Soul.” They—}

  My purse is buzzing. My phone is buzzing.

  It might be him.

  I don’t waste a second. I move my hand directly to my purse, directly to my phone.

  I pull it out and look and—

  And it is him. A text from him.

  No patience for counting. Open text.

  Do you want me to come?

  Do you want me to come?

  Do you want me to come?

  No time wasted counting. No time spent thinking. Reply.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Yes.
<
br />   Send.

  Chapter 14

  plane ride

  PLEASE WRITE BACK. PLEASE WRITE back. Please write back. Pl—

  My phone buzzes again.

  Open text.

  Okay. Then sit down. I’ve already checked the seat and seatbelt for you.

  Wait. What? He was here?

  He was here. He was here. My seat is fine.

  An unexpected…rather foreign at this point…surge of relief comes over me. I sink myself down into my seat.

  I relax my head against the headrest, my back against the cushiony fabric of the chair…where his hands just were. He was here. He was—

  Wait. Wait. WAIT. What if he is here?

  I lean up in my seat and start to look around. I see people in seats and people struggling to put luggage in the overhead compartments. I glance at Dr. Gabriel, who is still talking to the same skinny flight attendant in the tiny little skirt. He’s blocking the aisle and making it really difficult for other passengers to get around him. He doesn’t appear to care, though.

  My eyes continue to wander, searching faces, searching eyes. Eyes of excited children, eyes of tired adults, eyes of busy businessmen. Eyes and eyes and eyes. No sight of those miserable blue eyes, though.

  Feeling stupid, I lean back once more in my seat, clutching my purse. I close my eyes and press into the chair…trying to imagine that I’m somewhere else…trying to tune out the flutter of noise around me…trying to feel the remaining warmth from his hands on the fabric beneath me.

  He’s coming soon. He’ll be at the conference. He’ll—

  Wait. I never responded to his last text.

  I look down at my lap. My hand sits in front of me, still clenching my phone. My fingers get to work.

  Okay. I’m in my seat.

  Or does he already know that? Is he watching me? If—

  A dinging noise comes from overhead, and a male voice begins to talk about things I’d rather not have in my head right now…words about how we all should be seated and ready to leave soon…safety tips for flying…instructions to turn off our phones.

  I hit send quickly. Then I scrunch as far over in my seat as I can…as far away from Dr. Gabriel as I can…as he starts to sit down beside me. He sits, but he continues to talk to the flight attendant, saying something about a collection of art he has in his home. He talks loudly. He wants me to hear…to hear him interacting with another female.

  Miss Flight Attendant seems to be focusing on his words, nodding and offering frequent “Uh-huh” noises.

  Blech. Shouldn’t she be working?

  I glance past them, looking right through the window on the other side of the aisle. The window that soon will be out in the open air.

  I turn my head the other way, to the window right beside me. The shade has been pulled, so I can’t see out of it…won’t be able to see the tiny people and buildings and water that will soon be below us. Won’t be able to see what is going on as the plane suddenly begins falling toward those tiny people and buildings and water…as it starts to crash…all of us falling to our dea—

  CALLIE.

  Even though it’s probably pointless…even though it won’t save me, I fasten my seatbelt around me. I vaguely hear Dr. Gabriel saying goodbye to his flight attendant. Before he can turn to talk to me, there is another ding from overhead, a ding that can only mean that someone is about to tell us that we are going to take off in a couple seconds.

  I don’t hear the announcement. I hear ringing. I hear buzzing. I hear plane crash noises. My eyes are open, but I can no longer see the back of the seat in front of me. I see a plane on the ground enveloped in fire. I see scattered bodies and lifeless limbs. I smell—

  I feel movement. Forward movement. Wheels underneath of me rolling, moving, speeding up.

  My stomach starts to gurgle. Don’t throw up, Callie. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Pass out instead. Just pass out. Toward the window…away from Dr. Gabriel. Just. Pass. Out.

  My eyes get all fuzzy. My body sways as much as a body can when seatbelted into a seat. But I don’t pass out. I’m not given that luxury. At least I’m not throwing up. It’s not like I’ve put anything in my body to throw up. But—

  Callie! Stop thinking about it. Stop—

  The plane lifts beneath me, angling up.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

  I clench my fists on my lap, tightening my arms around my purse and squeezing my eyes shut. Please don’t crash. Please don’t crash. Please don’t crash. I—

  Something is nudging up against my elbow. Repeatedly.

  I keep my eyes closed, imagining some kid with slimy fingers poking at me, getting snot or spit or something all over my sweater. Or—

  A throat is cleared behind me. A short, unnecessary-sounding cough. A meaningful cough.

  His cough. I know it.

  He’s here. Right behind me. With me. For me.

  Wait. That means that it’s him at my elbow.

  My eyes open. My hands unclench. Without moving my head, I slide my eyes over to Dr. Gabriel. I only see the back of his head. He’s looking the other way. Thank the Lord.

  I slide my eyes now to the other side of me…the elbow-nudging, shaded window side. And now, sitting on my armrest, is a yellow spiral bound notebook. It has CALLIE written across the cover.

  Trying not to move too much, trying not to catch Dr. Gabriel’s attention, I move my left hand and grab the notebook. I slide it up over my lap so it rests right on top of my purse. I stare at the letters on the front. C-A-L-L-I-E. My name. In his handwriting.

  I rub my thumb over each letter in my name. After I get to the “E”…well, then I can’t wait anymore. I open the notebook.

  A silver pen, his pen, is clipped at the top of the first page. As I reach up to unclip it, I see his handwriting once again.

  Hi.

  My mouth starts smiling. With just one word.

  I write on the next line.

  Hi.

  Then I reclip the pen and close the notebook. I use my left hand to push it back through the space on the side of my seat while my eyes again sneak over to Dr. Gabriel.

  He’s still not looking this way. Excellent.

  The notebook is grabbed from my hands. By him. Right behind me.

  My mouth continues to smile. A lot.

  When I feel the notebook again nudging my arm, I look over at Dr. Gabriel once more. He’s still looking the other way, looking down the aisle. For the flight attendant? Maybe. I have better things to think about right now, though.

  Open notebook. Unclip pen…which is still warm from his hand. Grip pen tightly against chest. Read.

  I’m guessing you don’t want Gabriel to know I’m here. No babysitters allowed, if I remember correctly.

  More smiles. I can’t stop.

  Pen on paper.

  No—no babysitters allowed. Well, no visible babysitters.

  I think about stopping there, but the pen keeps writing.

  Thank you.

  Pen clipped. Notebook shut. Notebook passed back. Eyes on Dr. Gab—

  Wait. Instead of just seeing Dr. Gabriel, I once again see the super skinny flight attendant.

  She’s back? Seriously? What is wrong with this girl? She is going to get herself in trouble or fired or something if she keeps not working…and for what? Dr. Gabriel? Seriously?

  Maybe she thinks that he is going to whisk her away from her job…make a life for her by selling his art collection or—

  Another nudge comes from behind me. My eyes leave the little couple.

  Grab notebook. Open notebook. Unclip pen. Read.

  Why does he keep talking to that girl? What is he doing?

  Pen on paper.

  I think he’s trying to do her.

  Pen clipped. Notebook closed. Notebook back.

  I don’t bother looking at Dr. Gabriel this time. I can hear him now talking about his university classes.

  A light laugh comes from behind me. His laugh. An
adorable laugh.

  I close my eyes and try to picture what his face must look like right now…is it as relaxed as he sounds? Or is the tension there?

  It’s hard not to just turn around and find out. So hard. Somehow, though, I will my body to stay in my seat. Facing forward. Waiting to see what he writes next.

  A new nudge comes only seconds into my waiting. This time, the notebook arrives sideways, coils on the bottom. When I open it, something falls onto my lap. A granola bar.

  Rolling my eyes at, well, no one who can see me, I look down to read my new message. His new message.

  I’m guessing you haven’t eaten in at least 24 hours. You need to eat…more than this, but this is a start. Only 120 calories.

  I shake my head and start to write back.

  I can’t eat yet. Not yet.

  Granola bar and pen back in notebook. Notebook back sideways.

  I swear I hear a little groan a second later. It’s such a quiet noise, though. Maybe I’m just hearing things.

  What I do clearly (and unfortunately) hear, however, is Dr. Gabriel. He seems to be exchanging phone numbers with his flight attendant. He—

  Another nudge from behind me. Notebook right side up this time. No granola bar…which is good…even though my stomach is starting to eat itself a little. No eating yet, though. No fuel for throwing up (beyond, well, the plane, Dr. Gabriel, my upcoming stay at—)

  Focus, Callie.

  Okay. Open notebook.

  How about tonight? Dinner? Just us…no Dr. Don Juan.

  Just us. Just us. Just us.

  My hungry stomach feels warm all of a sudden. And not because I may be making plans to feed it dinner.

  Before I can lift the pen to write the three little letters I want to combine for my response, I hear Dr. Gabriel say goodbye to his flight mistress. Guess she actually has to work now.