An Impossible Thing Called Love. Belinda Missen
of a flight attendant inviting all first-class and frequent flyers to board first.
Reluctantly, and with a shared look of disgust, we gathered our belongings, William slipping my backpack across one shoulder. When he reached out, I gladly took his hand. So comfortable was it that I didn’t let go until we reached the gate, where everyone was waiting, as wide-eyed as they had been that night almost a week ago. I introduced William again, and asked Heather to take a photo. A Polaroid was the one piece of him that I could take home with me. Then William asked for one. Behind us, a stewardess announced our rows were ready for boarding.
‘This is me, I guess.’ I reached for my backpack, our hands grazing at the switchover.
‘Go on and leave me, then,’ he joked. ‘Go.’
‘Do you think we’ll meet again?’ I asked, wondering if this would be it. How often could you say you met the same person three different times? How often does lightning strike the same spot? ‘We will, won’t we?’
‘I should hope so,’ he enthused, his forehead wrinkled as he nodded.
‘Me, too.’ There was a mad rush for tickets and passports and, as I pulled mine from my bag, William took my hand again. He rolled a knuckle between his thumb and forefinger. I would have paid good money to know what he was thinking.
One last time, I checked my ticket and passport; in my hand and ready to go. I looked up to William, ready to impart some final words, but he yanked me into a hug.
‘Em, come on.’ Behind me, Heather was growing impatient.
I wanted to stay, tucked safely inside his jacket, the light scrub of five o’clock shadow against my temple. His aftershave clung to his jacket, and I wanted that scent to hang around, to breathe it in every day, to have it so ingrained in me that I carried it everywhere I went. While I was busy overthinking, he kissed me. What began on my forehead soon travelled to my cheek, and then my mouth. It was warm and solid and turned my poor unforgiving brain to mush as he brushed his fingers against my neck, heavy enough to feel but light enough to tickle like a spring breeze.
One last boarding call rattled from the tannoy.
‘You’d better go.’ William pulled back. I started to turn, but he pulled me back one last time, my heart giddy. Between his lips – lips that had just kissed me – was a pen, and he pulled up the sleeve of my hoodie before writing an email address on the curve of my wrist. The way his fingers grazed that soft spot sent shivers down my spine. I bit down on my bottom lip.
‘Let me know that you get home safe?’ His forehead wrinkled again.
I nodded, grabbing the pen and scribbling my own email on the top of his hand. ‘In case you get bored in France.’ I looked up, giving him one last smile. ‘See you soon?’
‘Speaking of the universe, when you get home, I want you to look up the invisible thread theory. I’m a firm believer, especially after today. Keep in touch.’
‘You, too.’ I pointed at him, voice shaking.
He kissed me again, once more for good luck, before I walked away. He waited until I disappeared down the gantry, my last glimpse of him a lanky ginger with arms waving above his head.
I gave the flight attendant a tight smile as she inspected my ticket, pointing me in the direction of my seat at the rear of the plane. My backpack only just squeezed into the small space beside Heather’s, who was talking to Josh. He’d lucked out with the seat in front of us. I shuffled awkwardly into my seat, fiddling with the straps and unwrapping the small blanket before arranging it around my legs.
It wasn’t until we pushed off the gate, the captain welcoming us on the PA system, that the first uncertain tear fell down my cheek. Next to me, Heather passed over a packet of tissues and squeezed my hand.
I’d been so unsure of myself since I received my rejection letter to study medicine. I hadn’t known what I wanted, past the experience of university, of travelling.
Now I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t possible.
I wanted to stay.
8th January 2011
Hi Emmy,
I’m bored.
William.
9th January 2011
Hello Bored,
I’m so glad to hear from you! How are you? And how can you possibly be bored in Paris? Please, go eat some pastries for me.
A very jealous Emmy xo
12th January 2011
Hey yourself,
It goes a little like this, Ems. There’s only so much firewood I can chop before I’m a little sore and achy. I could really go for a massage right now, so I’ve been sitting in front of the fire, reading up on some medical journals, getting some naps in and – when it stops snowing – looking out for pastry. How’s it been settling back into real life? Are you okay?
I have a wee confession to make, if I may, in the way that English people apparently don’t talk about their feelings. So, New Year’s Day? I woke up with the awful realisation that I hadn’t got your details. I pulled my pants up and raced over to the hostel, only to be told your bus had already left. Needless to say, I’m glad you found me at the airport. Really glad.
How was the flight home? What did you say – thirty hours? How the hell do you cope? And what do you do for thirty hours of sitting still? That would drive me spare (though I would absolutely not hesitate to visit).
William.
P.S. Let’s switch to good, old-fashioned letters? My address is below.
2nd February 2011
Lovely William,
Oh, you have no idea how thrilled I was to see you, too. Did you know I ran after you on New Year’s Eve? You’d disappeared around the corner and I thought, ‘Oh, shit!’. So, I tried to follow, like Alice down the rabbit hole, but you’d disappeared. I walked into the first hotel I saw to ask if they’d seen you and was told trying to find a red-head in a Scottish city was a long shot, but good luck with that.
As for the flight home, there were a lot of films on the inflight entertainment. The cabin crew kept us all well fed on starchy foods (sleep inducers that they are), and I read a book that Josh had packed with him. So lucky for that book – it filled Dubai to Sydney nicely.
Do come and visit, you’ll love it. I’m thinking sometime around October when I may or may not have a birthday? The weather will be just nice, and we can hire a car to explore some.
I’m off to the beach this afternoon, after bypassing the bookshop and picking up some textbooks. How’s work going? When does it start? School starts for me in exactly one month. Kind of looking forward to getting it over and done with.
Ready when you are,
Emmy x
28th February 2011
Emsy,
How are you feeling about school today? I know what you mean about getting it done. I’m in this GP office for eighteen months before I move on to the very last stage of my training. They’re a nice bunch. If it keeps going like this, I wouldn’t be offended by returning to