I always hated flying.

There's no worse feeling in the world than your stomach lurching at the prospect of a gigantic hunk of metal defying gravity.

This wasn't ideal and if I had my choice, it wouldn't be this way.

But here I am.

Strapped into my seat as tightly as I can be. A Xanax popped about five minutes ago and washed down with an overpriced bottle of green tea.

Closing my eyes and breathing out deeply, I try to repeat some of the "face your fears" mantras my therapist left me with over the phone this morning. I'm sure I look absolutely bonkers to the other people settling into the cabin.

My phone buzzes underneath me and I sigh in annoyance as I squirm to try to reach in my back pocket.

"Miss, please be sure your phone is on airplane mode," one of the flight attendants reminds me with a terse smile before making her way through the cabin.

I lean my head back against the headrest, fighting every urge I have to rip off my seatbelt and run off of this plane. There are other ways to get home. With no one to pick me up, there's no rush.

My phone buzzes again and I look down at the messages.

Logan: [Can we talk?]

Logan: [Please. We can't leave it like that.]

The captain starts speaking overhead and I firmly hold the power button to deactivate my phone for the entirety of the flight. I stash the powerless flat shell in the leather tote I have tucked under the seat in front of me, then yank on my seatbelt one more time before looking out the small oval window two seats to my right.

When I wake up again, the flat industrial landscape that has been my home for the past ten years will be gone. And maybe, all of this will just have been a terrible dream.

- - -

"Gracie, slow down!"

.

I remember that day. My dad had just taught me how to ride a bike and I was so eager to pedal down to the neighborhood ice cream shop.

But he had forgotten his wallet on the kitchen counter and had to run back and grab it before our celebratory treat.

My fire-red pigtails were covered in the fluorescent red, blue, and yellow of the Superman ice cream I gorged on, and my mom was none too happy when we got home.

.

"Honey, we're so proud of you." 

My mom's voice reverberated through my ears. Despite holding back a sob, she couldn't help but be fiercely proud when I made it into my top college pick.

I know it pained her to help box up all my things and it probably broke her heart every time I called her from school when I was homesick.

But she did it anyway. She knew it was best for me.

I know there were less pleasant memories lurking somewhere, especially some more recent.

But I didn't want to hear or feel them. I didn't want to acknowledge how ugly I'd been.

And I'd have my whole life left to face that.

Just not today.