Hey guys, as I’m working through the final draft of this story, I’m going to try something: I want to give it to you as I progress! So, here is the first part. I hope you enjoy! The story was inspired by this image by photographer, designer, and over-all stand-up guy, Yisrael Grimes. Check out his Facebook Page… AFTER you read this first part of my third short story: A Missed Flight.
Have you ever been so certain of something, that your body reacted accordingly, feeling what it thinks you should feel? The young man, named Thomas Hathaway, sitting at the end of the aisle was fighting this feeling. A feeling of vertigo that was so strong that it convinced his body he should should have been experiencing what was happening outside the window. The problem was that it was impossible.
It all started a few months after his family died. Well to be fair, It really all started the day his family died, but considering the toll that took on our dear Mr. Hathaway, we shall jump ahead to a few months later, the morning of Thomas Hathaway’s first meeting with The Man in the Silver Suit.
His alarm went off at 7:56. At the very same time Thomas threw his eyes open, threw his upper body into a seated position on the bed, and threw his hand down on the alarm clock. considering that his snooze button keeps the morning at bay in eight minute increments, he must have hit the button at least six times. As his eyes focused on the clock, it went from two pairs of fuzzy eight’s, to the actual time. He groaned, “Ghuh, I was supposed to get up an hour ago. 30 minutes to get to the airport!”
The truth is Thomas hated these trips to the office up in South Carolina now more than ever. He used to hate them because they took him away from his family for the weekend. Now, he hated them more because of the fake smile and “I care about the company” attitude he was going to have to wear. He didn’t want to smile, and the last thing he cared about was the company. All he could think about, still, was what he lost. He had tried to make it easier by getting rid of his wife’s and daughter’s things, but he found that there was absolutely no way to get rid of every single little memory hidden throughout his home. What was he supposed to do? Remove all the spoons that his wife ever pressed to her lips when they had oatmeal together every morning? Should he take the car to the shop and pay to get the microscopic dent in the rear bumper where his daughter Allison had hit the mailbox during her first five seconds ever driving a vehicle?
There was also the smell. His wife kara always used lavender soap, lavender shampoo, and lavender conditioner. She adored the smell of lavender. And after she died, he must have washed the sheets a dozen times to get rid of the smell, but it wouldn’t go away. There was still the faintest scent of it in the pillows. Thomas would remember that she said she loved it because it was a peaceful smell. And yes, it reminded him of peace, which reminded him of holding her between his arms as they drifted off to sleep. Lately, he would lie awake thinking of the peace and warmth of pulling her close, and pull the now-less-than-peaceful sheets over his arms where she used to be, and squeeze. But he doesn’t drift off to sleep.
Bills don’t take a break for you to finish mourning. So he got up, cleaned up, and rushed out the door. If he ran to the airport, dodging the traffic, and kept an eye on the time he could get a break from the sorrow and focus being fast. He never looked at his watch when he was with kara. And he didn’t run either. “Slow down, Mister!” she would blurt out if he ever began to rush. “Your legs are a lot longer than mine, you know.” Now, he always ran.
And he always checked his watch.
Thanks for reading! The second part will be up soon. Be sure to check out Designer Yisrael Grimes’ site and Facebook page on the way out. And read some my finished stories in the side bar to the left.