Airport 2

leaving rose's house, headed for airport for flight back to texas, for deployment.

I chose not to look back up at the window, instead believing she was there, chin resting in the crook of her elbow as she lay across the sill of the window. Confronting Rose may not have been the best decision, but my heart was in it, I would have regretted not having made the effort. I pulled away from the curb, no longer caring for the familiarity of the neighborhood, and accelerated down the block. Making my way to the freeway, I merged into light traffic and picked up speed. The airport was minutes away, just over the Interstate bridge, and I was beginning to realize just how much time I had given myself before my flight departure. It was going to be a long morning.

After reaching the airport, I parked in the garage near the terminal. I felt a bit awkward now about insisting on driving myself to the airport, several family members had offered to help but were unaware I had plans to visit Rose. Shouldering the duffels, I grabbed my assault pack and headed for the elevator bank. After making my way inside the terminal I found the departure board and searched for my flight. I had over 2 hours until boarding.

I found an unoccupied bank of seats at a closed gate and sat facing the large windows. Looking out at the stretches of runways, I was wondering how long it would take me to get back to this place, this airport. I held nothing against Rose, for choosing not to engage the situation, it was more Justin I was concerned with. His demeanor, his attitude, the way he conducted himself in my presence. His message was understood, though I had not intended to be so deliberate with my anger, by showing up uninvited. After our brief conversation, he would have returned to her in the upstairs bedroom, making an effort to mock my failed gesture. She would have listened, but I had no doubts she remained at the window sill, watching me drive away.

For Rose and I, our past had always been something of a precursor for an incredible event. Our hearts were naturally jealous, but were held so quiet in close context with the other it made no difference unless we became separated. We liked the idea of making our own decisions, but little did we know about how lost we truly were. We followed our friends dreams after school ended, as a sort of last resort, though never achieved the sort of success we had been introduced to. Our stubborn hearts refused to turn back on the limited success we had built for ourselves, which would define the career choices of our early twenties. But while Rose refused to admit she would rather have something different for herself, she had not retained the same desire for keeping our love alive. My latest visit to her home had proved this to be true.

I opened the assault pack containing my personal papers and miscellaneous necessities. A neatly organized green military supply ledger which served as an adequate journal had been fit near the top, for easy access. Inside were recent notes and dated entries, as well as slews of lines and words without dates or discernible context. I flipped through the loose additions inside the hard cover ledger, most of which were letters enclosed in their original envelopes. The name 'Rose' was penned beautifully along the upper left corner of most of the letters, though several were missing any sort of notation. These were from Katie, and as of late, had become a source of personal comfort in place of Rose's absent words.

While I knew our relationship had come about only out of indifference between Rose and I, the things we shared during our brief time together were reminiscent of the practical love once obvious between Rose and myself. Our correspondence had also displayed the spirit and potential of our bid for a long-distance relationship. I had not spoken to Katie in weeks, not since I had begun making arrangements for this final trip home before deployment. She actually lived in the area, but I figured my time at home would be best spent with Rose, and she had made no suggestion of meeting. The fact was, we had become such good friends I was no longer sure my desire to provide for her was in our best interest. Attempting a step forward meant there was chance we might both be left with nothing.