Afterlife: Reincarnation

42

September 9

LANE

Time is a funny thing. For something that isn't even truly tangible, something that you cant truly see, it holds so much weight. Our days are dictated by it, our lives revolving around it.

What time is it?

Am I late?

Am I too early?

How much longer?

These questions are such simple ones, ones that everyone asks on a daily basis. Our lives circulate around time like planets around the sun, and yet, at the end of each day, it all just begins again.

I honest had never been one to put much thought into the concept of time. At least not to any real degree. But over the last five days, that all changed. I was completely aware of time, of every minute moving by. Every change it my day got me that much closer to going home to my family, to my friends, and to Harry.

I had never been so relieved to hear his voice as I had been on the phone that night. I had all but grabbed the phone from Erin, first calling my frantic parents, then Harry, assuring them that I was okay. I knew everyone would be worry, especially Harry since he had gotten a direct glimpse into the start of the chaos. That would be enough to scare anyone, and add on my imposed silence since, I had no doubt he was losing his mind.

Finally talking to him felt like a weight lifted from my chest. Suddenly, I could breath, I would think again. My chest didn't hurt, and I felt relaxed.

That was when the countdown started.

Since then, I was increasingly aware of every minute. We left Egypt the day following my calls home, flying into London. Here, we had gone over countless hours of debriefing, reviewing the nights events, those in the days previous, those following. It was a constant recall of every moment surrounding our escape, told over and over to military, government, and others wanting to understand.

By the end of our second day in London, I was exhausted. I had done nothing but speak, but review that night endlessly, and I had reached my breaking point, I didn't want to talk about it anymore. I didn't want to think about it anymore. All I wanted to do was go home, and sleep for days.

Each evening I would lay in my hotel, staring out the window onto the city beyond. It was a stunning skyline, and one I had wanted to see my whole life. But now that I was here, I couldn't seem to enjoy it. All I could think about was the state in which we left, and the work we left undone. I knew it was a stupid thing to focus on, knowing that other teams would return once the region was deemed safe, and continue in our wake. But I couldn't help the feeling of regret, and that we weren't quite finished there.

Now, I was finally on my way home. My legs were pulled into my chest, the position not particularly comfortable, but the only one that seemed to ease even a little bit of the anxiety I felt. I was perched upon my seat on Flight 347 from London to New York, watching as the clouds parted during our descent, the familiar city coming in to view.

I was almost home.

I could feel it, now that it was in view. The proximity and the relief was almost overwhelming. Within the hour, my feet would be on the ground, back in New York. I would be in the arms of my parents, safe.

I had spoke to them the day before, listening as my mother praised me, my father calmly confirming my flight details to arrange to meet me. It was still humorous to me, their complete contrasts under pressure. As always, my father was calm and collected, while my mother was hyper and tangential.

Calling Harry, I gave him the same flight information, smiling when he assured me he would be there as well to greet me.

"I've been fantasizing about this for months, babe," he teased. "You bet your ass I will be there the second you get off the plane."