flight-risk {g.d.}

six

grayson:

this girl makes me nervous.
she's almost... bipolar?

like, one moment she'll be laughing, and then she's glaring holes in me. usually people are easier to figure out than her.

i add more things to my list:

- no nicknames
- "mature" aka bad childhood
- favorite color is lilac (doesn't match her personality at all but okay)
- potential flight risk

"what's a flight risk?" she asks me, craning her neck to see my paper.

"it's rude to look at someone's personal journals."

"it's rude to write about someone when they're sitting right next to you," she fires back. ouch. got me there.

ignoring her come back, i say, "a flight risk is... someone who just gets up and leaves with not hesitation. can't settle down in one spot, because they're always searching for something better."

shes quiet, contemplating my words.

"you're a flight risk, you know that?"

"i am not." she protests, but her words come out small and quiet.

"maybe that's why you don't think love is worth it. because you're scared of leaving."

"you're not my therapist, grayson."

"i'm majoring in psychology, minoring in journalism." i smirk teasingly. "i could be one day."

"stop trying to figure me out."

i furrow my eyebrows. "what?"

"i said stop," she says again, "it's no use. just stop."

"i just want to learn more about you."

a little white lie, yes.
but it'll come in handy.

"you wanna know what my middle name is? because you want to know me so bad?" she says in a bitter tone, but it's not necessarily directed at me.

"...yes?"

"luenza. elizabeth luenza lowell. who in the world hates their kids more than my mom hated me?" she chuckles.

"luenza? as in, influenza?"

"shut up!" she laughs, "it was my great grandmother's name."

"where's your mom now?"

she flicks her eyes away from mine, and her stone face softens to butter. she smiles softly and looks back at me.

"heaven."

i scramble for words, but she pats my arm reassuringly.

"no- thanks for bringing her up. i like when people ask, because it reminds me that she's still there, ya know? makes it harder to forget her, which is good."

"yeah," i say quietly, "i understand."

"so you believe in the afterlife stuff, but not love?" i ask.

"i believe we go somewhere when we die, yes. maybe heaven isn't real. maybe it is. i don't have an opinion on it, but i like to imagine heaven is where my mom went. she deserved it."

"when did she pass?"

"during my birth," she says, "but from all the stories i heard of her, i just know she was great."

"that's love."

"what?" she looks at me, confused.

"you love your mom. that's love."

"i mean i don't believe in being in love. not just love."

"being in love doesn't have to be with the person you're dating. we just take it that way because that's how it's most used. being in love has no boundaries, whatsoever."

"what about age? what if a 59 year old was dating a 13 year old?" she asks teasingly.

"okay definitely that. that's a boundary. but that's it."

she laughs and swirls her finger around her wine cup.

"why are you really going to australia?" i ask.

she doesn't answer, but leans her head back on the seat.

"i'm going to take a nap, grayson. wake me when we land."