Airplane Story

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“Tell me, Christina... tell me. Just... tell me."

Somebody sneezed.

"Tell me what happened that weekend at the Cape.”
 
I took a deep breath. The plane was in the air now, over the noises, over the ocean, over the two-bedroom condo on the market for over ten weeks, over the troubles of the earthbound and working concerns, over everything, and taking us bravely through endless red sky.

Christina, looking bothered, only shifted in her seat. But I stood steady on the question. Elsewhere on the plane a baby would cry. “Let’s talk another time,” she said, and turned to face the window. But I had waited too long to fall back now. 

“Tell me, Christina, tell me... tell me what happened that weekend at the Cape with Anthony." Four years of my life I had spent with this woman, working to make her see, slaving to earn a long-promised love. Four years proving on a blackboard that we were meant to be together, that no man could love her more. Four years of following, of taking abuse, with the hope that someday she'd take mine.


But she just shook her head and went back to her magazine. The model on the cover promised '10 Great Lies To Tell In Bed. 

“Tell me, Christina, tell me...” I insisted, “Tell me what happened that weekend at the Cape with Anthony and the changing room.”

My engagement ring was worn around her finger... but I didn't know if I was in her soul. I couldn't tell if she loved me or settled for something sound. I no longer knew what she was thinking, or if I ever appeared in those thoughts. I was at fault for finding her fine, for accepting her completely and without question. Waking up in the morning I listened for her breath and at the end of every evening I wanted her voice in my ear. When she was angry with me I was more than hurt... I was broken. And since we had recently agreed to tangle our lives forever I had to know.

I had to know.
I wiped the sweat from my brow. "Tell me."

I was losing altitude.

“You’re being silly,” she said, uncoiling her headphones.

“I mean it,” I spoke in a bass that caught my own ear by surprise.

“Tell me, Christina, tell me... tell me what happened that weekend at the Cape with Anthony and the changing room and the shower.”

But she wasn’t saying. It had been two years since that Cape Cod vacation, two years since we ran into her amoral friend Anthony on the beach. Two years since the two of them disappeared for an hour from the changing room. Two years since I found her showering on the deck while humming new music and refusing to look me in the eye. I couldn't ignore it anymore. Now I had to know.

“Tell me, Christina, tell me what happened... tell me!”

I was loud. Someone looked up from their laptop.

Then, all at once, the warmest, softest look came over her, a look that melted me, and she smiled, squeezing my hand in hers. Her eyes looked deep inside me, and a rush of love radiated through my chest.

“Oh baby,” she sighed, and suddenly I knew I had nothing to fear. I'd been jealous... I'd been deaf. I was a tiny, small-minded, inferior child. There was nothing to worry about. I loved her... and she loved me in return. With my worries dissolved I exhaled, a smile spreading across my face. I was so relieved that I felt like flying.

The stewardess approached us with the beverage cart and smiled. “Would either of you like a drink?”

Christina turned to face me. “Anthony fucked me in the ass and came in my hair.” She slipped on her headphones and reclined in her seat, engrossed by the in-flight movie.

I turned to the stewardess for a drink but she had moved on.

She had moved on down the aisle.