When Cicadas Cry (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Present

Rem

T
he airport is crowded for a Tuesday. I wonder for a second where in the hell all these people are goin’.

I find my gate and take a seat in between an old man who’s mastered the art of sleeping sittin’ up in a chair and a younger girl, maybe in junior high, cradlin’ her phone in both hands. I stare at her hands for a second longer than I normally would have. I’ve just never seen anyone move their thumbs so fast. They’re like Riverdance thumbs or somethin’.

Just then, her thumbs stop movin’, and I look away. Luckily, I don’t think she noticed me starin’. It’s either that or she doesn’t care because she never takes her eyes off the phone.

The electric board above the little ticket counter distracts me by changing to a different set of numbers. I glance down at my boarding pass. The flight number on the board matches the one on my pass.
Right on time.
I like to cut things close. I hate sittin’ and waitin’. I’d rather miss the damn flight than sit here hours waitin’ for it.

A moment later, a woman’s voice comes over the speakers. She tells us they’re startin’ to board. So, like my grandpa’s cattle ready to feed, myself included, we all get up and shuffle to the line that’s already formin’ behind that ticket counter. I’m there for all of two seconds before somethin’ hits my leg. And without even so much as a thought, I turn around and catch a young blonde bendin’ down. She’s grabbin’ at the handle of the bag that just fell and hit me. And in an attempt to help her, I bend down and reach for the bag as well.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, in a rushed voice.

At her words, my heart starts to panic, and I lose all my thoughts. And I just stand there, waiting—waiting to see her face—even though, I already know who I’m about to see.

One Mississippi.

My heart’s about ready to beat out of my chest.

Two Mississippi.

The seconds feel like years. And meanwhile, I can’t get a breath.

Three Mississippi.

Our eyes meet, and she gasps.

“Rem.”

I can’t tell if it’s a statement or a question. And I’m so dumbstruck, I can’t even command my lips to move.

She steadies the bag upright again and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “Um...uh... Hi.”

It takes me a second, but I eventually get the word out. “Hi.”

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

“Uh, how have you been?” She asks it sincerely, as if she really means it. I think that hurts more than anything.

I breathe in first. I don’t think I had done that in a few seconds. And then, thankfully, I breathe out a smile. “I’m good.” I nod. “You?”

She nods too. “Good,” she says.

There’s this breathless silence and a look between us that lasts a little too long. And if that’s not enough, my heart tries to climb up my throat, but I do my best to swallow it down.

“Well,” she says, droppin’ her gaze, and at the same time, fiddlin’ with the jacket she has in her hands. “Meeting?” she asks, looking up and at the board that reads
Austin
.

“Yeah,” I simply say.

She nods, as if she expected my answer.

It’s funny. I did picture seeing her again. I did. There were those moments in the day when it was really quiet and then at night, when the world seemed asleep, that I pictured how this exact moment would play out. It was always in a crowded place. She would see me, and I would see her, and then the world around us would stop and fall away, like loose tiles on a wall. And it would always be as if we were expecting to see each other—as if we knew at any point, in any given day, that we would meet again, that it was inevitable. We just didn’t know when. And when we’d see each other for the first time in ages, our eyes would meet, and it would be as if all the pain were gone—as if
it
never happened. And she would smile. And I would smile. And we would reminisce about the first day we met or that night in Sunny Square. And then...and then, we’d look into each other’s eyes, and we’d promise each other, without sayin’ a word, that we’d make it...this time.

It’s funny now, though. There’s still a tinge of pain, and in place of that happy feelin’ I always pictured I’d have, there’s this huge hole of speechlessness and uncertainty. And
work
... In all the dreams,
work
was never a topic that came up.

“You?” I ask. “Why are you headed down south?”

“I...I live in Lakeway now. It’s not too far from Austin. I figured, I could work and keep tabs on my grandmother.” She bows her head and softly laughs. “Though, I think she’s actually the one keeping tabs on me.”

I smile, but somethin’ in my chest jabs at my heart. I don’t know why, but the fact that she lives in Texas now kind of hits me hard. I think it’s because it’s the first time I realize that I’m really no longer a part of her life. I didn’t even know where she lived.

“I was just here visiting some friends,” she adds.

That hurts too. I’m not even a friend she’d consider visiting. And I don’t even know if I’d know the friends she was visiting. Her friends used to be our friends, but then, I guess, you can make all new friends in the course of a year.

I nod.

“Are you still in Ava?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say, grabbin’ the back of my neck. I think it’s a nervous habit.

She takes a deep breath. “How is everyone?”

Again, she asks it as if she really cares. Why does she have to ask it that way? I’m tryin’ not to picture her against that old maple, lookin’ into my eyes, smilin’ that pretty smile of hers and tellin’ me she loves me. And her being nice isn’t helpin’ any.

The line starts movin’, and all of a sudden, I notice there’s a gap between me and the person in front of me. Ashley smiles and rests her hand on the handle of her bag. I take that as a cue and shuffle up the line sideways a couple more feet.

“Everyone’s fine,” I say. “I’m sure they’re all the same as when you left.”

I notice her draw a sharp breath at my last word. I didn’t mean to make her hurt, but the fact is, she did leave—fast. Nobody leaves where I’m from, and they sure as hell don’t do anything fast. But then, I guess, I might have left—fast—too, if I were her.

All too soon, I’m bein’ stared at by a tall, slender woman takin’ tickets. She gives me a rushed smile, so I make an effort to smile, too, as I hand her my pass. She takes it, scans it, and I slowly shuffle into the tunnel that leads to the plane. But I stop when the line stops and watch as Ashley hands her ticket over and eventually joins me in the tunnel.

“You packed light,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

I look down at the backpack I’m corralling at the end of my fingertips. “I try to avoid baggage claim at all costs these days.”

She lowers her head and smiles. “Me too.”

I inhale and eye her one little carry-on. Today, I wouldn’t mind a stay in baggage claim if she were goin’ to be there
. Damn, I really shouldn’t be thinkin’ these thoughts anymore.

“What seat are you?” she asks.

For the first time, I look to see my seat assignment. Until now, I didn’t care where I sat.

“15C,” I say.

“I think I’m in 11.” She looks down at her ticket. “11A.”

She looks up at me then. There’s something in her eyes. There’s somethin’ she’s not sayin’. And more than anything right now, I want to know what that somethin’ is.

“You know, if there’s an empty seat...you should sit next to me,” she says. Her words are soft and unsure.

I nod and start to smile. “I could do that.”

She presses her lips together, while I say a little prayer that the seat next to her isn’t taken.

“It’s been a long time,” she says, bringin’ me back to the moment.

My eyes land on hers. She smiles.

“Yeah,” I agree. I take a deep breath. “You still workin’ in publishing?”

She nods. “Yeah. I am. But I’m writing, too.” She grins a little wider now.

“Really?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She fidgets with her jacket. “Well, a little.”

“Wow,” I say. I’m a little surprised at how genuinely excited I am for her. “That’s really cool.”

All too soon, we’re at the door to the plane, and the flight attendant is starin’ me down. I shuffle into the tiny aisle and immediately notice how full the plane is already.
Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.
Damn it!
There’s already two guys sittin’ in Ashley’s row. I give them a good once over. They’re about our age—two young city boys. I’m instantly jealous, and I’m not exactly sure why. She’s not mine...anymore. But even so, I size ‘em up and figure pretty quickly that I could probably take ‘em. Knowin’ that makes me feel a little better.

I stay back to help Ashley get her bag into the overhead compartment, even though she really doesn’t need my help. I try to act casual about the whole thing, and I make damn sure I make eye contact with each of the city boys at least once. They don’t need to know she’s not mine.

“Thanks,” she says.

I nod.

“Well,” she says, lookin’ over at her seat, “in case I don’t see you when we get off...”

She stops. And there’s somethin’. There’s somethin’ there again. I should say somethin’. I should ask her to lunch or...

Another guy about our age in line behind us loudly clears his throat and cuts short my thoughts. I give him a stern look.

“Well, if I don’t see you later,” she starts over, “it was nice seeing you again, Rem.”

I almost say somethin’, but then I don’t. “Yeah,” I say, instead. “Yeah, it was nice to see you, too.”

She smiles, turns and then takes her seat. And after another long breath, I drag my feet to my seat and plop down next to two people—a woman and a child. And I just sit there and stare into the back of the seat in front of me, thinkin’ about what just happened. I just saw Ashley Westcott for the first time in more than a year, and she’s just as beautiful as the day I met her. And I still want her just as much, yet there’s that wall there. She knows it’s still there; I know it’s still there. It’s keepin’ me from sayin’ anything. And I know it’s keepin’ her from sayin’ anything, too.

I try my best to see her through the cracks in the seats, but I can’t, and after several more minutes, I eventually give up. And then gradually, my mind goes back to the last couple years. I think about the time we were together and the time we were apart. I think about our first dance and our last day together. And I stop there. And I kick myself for not sayin’ more to her just now. But then I feel my heart drop in my chest when I realize that no matter what I could have said today, the outcome still remains the same.

And before I can even imagine that much time goin’ by, an hour and forty-five minutes is gone. And right on time, the voice comes over the speakers tellin’ us to buckle our seatbelts and make sure our seat backs and tray tables are in their full, upright positions. I glance out the window and see the tops of buildings.
Had we really been up in the air for nearly two hours already?

I do as the voice commands, and then I just sit there and think about her some more. I don’t know if I’m gonna see her again once I get off this plane. I want to see her, but then, it might be easier if I don’t.

The plane takes its good ol’ time taxiing to a gate and then finally opens its doors. And as if someone literally gives the word—although, no one ever does—a dozen rows of people stand up in front of me. Usually, I stay sittin’. I’ve learned it doesn’t do me any good to start rushin’ too soon. I liken people gettin’ off of a plane to a herd of turtles crossin’ the road. But today is different. Today, my palms are sweaty, and my heart is racin’. And it’s all because of a girl—a girl I never quite got over. And I’ve gotta do whatever it takes to see her one more time—even if I have no idea what to do after that.

I stand and look for her, but I can’t see her through all the damn heads swayin’ back and forth. So, I grab my backpack and just wait. I wait for enough people to crawl off the plane before I follow the line between the two rows of seats. I notice her seat is empty when I pass it. I tip my cap to thank the flight attendants and make my way into the tunnel. I hurry through it, and within seconds, I’m at the gate. I look up and immediately see her bent over a chair, messin’ with her bag. My heart instantly speeds up a notch, and I smile.