Still August 30

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I've never been to Dulles airport before. Actually, I've never been to any airport. It's not that we don't go anywhere; it's just that my mom adores road trips. Also, flights are expensive.

I feel important sitting here, alone, waiting for a plane. (The Captain's having a scotch. I was not invited but I guess, being seventeen, I shouldn't feel too slighted.)

I probably shouldn't just be looking at the people around me, bustling about, catching flights. I should be writing about how I left home and am heading to Nashquttin, an island full of people like me. Just like that. My life changed. But it's too big to write about. I'll start crying if I jot down how Eli asked me who he was supposed to play basketball with when he wanted to win by a ridiculous amount. (I have made three free throws in my entire existence.)

Okay, too late. Already crying. And, of course, an incredibly cute guy has since taken the Captain's seat. Note to self: must keep it to dainty tears.

The Captain drove me home to pack before we went to the airport. I got really nervous about everything. What if I missed Eli and my mom so much I had to scrunch under my bed among dust bunnies to feel okay? What if the island was filled with Cindys and Jasons? Cindys and Jasons who can also move sh*t with their minds. What if they didn't have cupcakes there? What if before I even got there the Captain killed me, chopped me up, and fed me to squirrels?

I looked at the Captain. He glanced at me before his eyes went back to the road. "You okay?" he asked. But in a stern way, like it was not really acceptable to not be okay. I don't know what happened but my muscles felt warm somehow and I just felt better about everything. I was no longer worried about being squirrel fodder. In that moment, I wasn't worried about anything.

Despite his stiffness, there's something relaxing about the Captain. There's something familiar.

I guess that makes sense. When I said goodbye to my mom at the hospital, we didn't say much. I love you, I'll miss you, be good, be strong. But as I pulled away from her, her hand curled snuggly around my arm, as though she had one more important thing to say. "Don't let anyone know you can also view," my mom said. "They don't have to know everything about you."

I didn't understand this request, but I'm fine following it. It has always been easier to keep that skill a secret anyway, and I feel very grateful to my mom. I can do this one thing for her. I mean, she's letting me leave home. She's trusting me to be on my own. She's trusting this unknown man.

Except, that's the thing, isn't it? I'm not so sure he's unknown.

"Why did you think you knew the Captain?" I asked.

She flipped her hand, "I was just tired."

I thought about the voice. I thought about how the Captain's hair is dark brown, almost exactly my color, and his skin is light, like mine. Unlike my mom's. I delivered an incredibly awkward, actually-I'm-trying-to-feel-something-out joke: "You sure he's not my dad or something?"

She said oh no. No. No. No. "I've never even seen that man before."

But she used her fake voice.

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⏰ Last updated: Nov 19, 2014 ⏰

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