Boarding : Chapter 1
A shaky huff escapes my throat, a response from the nervous state I was in. Traveling was not the issue, but being alone was — the idea of boarding the plane with my heavy luggage and not having my father to guide me down the thin walkway. Knowing all around me stared at me with disgust — even if they didn’t, I did — my mannerisms, the way I looked drew attention, and being forced to accept that with no one to reassure me made me afraid. But I wanted to separate myself from my sweet, pushover parents. I’d even argue that my parents kept this happy facade to ignore how much their marriage was falling apart. I always believed the people with large smiles on their faces were fakes, just an example of how miserable life truly was.
My shaky breath turns to a calm sigh. My eyes shift to my mother crying into my father’s arms. “Mom... I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to cry about,” I say slowly. A slight smirk appears on my face as she nods, standing back up to face me. She sniffles, wiping away the tears streaming down her rosy cheeks. “I know, I know... I’m just worried,” she weeps, my father nodding, agreeing with her. I unknowingly roll my eyes before looking to them both with a fake smile. “There’s nothing to be worried about. I’ll only be gone for 9 months,” I say slowly before reaching out to hug my mother and father, slowly pulling back and giving my sleeves a slight tug to hide my arms.
The feeling of approaching something you are so excited for always made me sick. I didn’t want to vomit at the idea of being away from my parents. But the idea of being known by no one made me afraid, and perhaps the idea of traveling across the world for college was a terrible idea. But I begged and begged my father, I kept reminding myself as I slowly step back. My grip on the handle attached to everything from my old life was tight and strong, almost like if I let go I would cry too.
My father scruffs his beard with his rough hand before sighing, staring into my watery eyes. “No regrets, son... you promised me,” he says sternly. In response, I nod, biting my lip. “I know... I— I’m not just...” I stay quiet, not wanting to tell the truth, and with that I sigh, giving my mother and my father one last look and slowly letting go. I step back. “I’ll call you every night, I promise, Mama,” I say softly, and she nods with hope.
I walk toward my gate, ticket in hand to Italy, and slowly I sit down against the old blue seats with other men and women sitting as well. My eyes scan them all over and over, trying to search for someone that maybe I won’t be afraid of, to hope that they somehow are sat next to me, and maybe I won’t panic and lose some of the unnecessary stress. A flight attendant walks to a small stand next to the doors to let us board, grabbing a microphone and calling everyone to the gate. I stand up, waiting behind the large line getting their tickets scanned. When my turn comes, I step up with an awkward smile on my face. Her eyes shift to my ticket, not glancing at me once, stamping down a check mark on my ticket before yelling “Next,” making me jump slightly.
The crowds of people fill up the small walkway. The pure chaos overwhelmed me to the point time felt like a blur, and before I could process, I sit down in my seat pressed against the window. Slowly, I tuck my hair behind my ear as I sit down, pushing my backpack against the wall, my hand unzipping the bag to pull out a pair of wired pink headphones. My eyes dart out my window, and before I could panic, takeoff began — and then I woke up.
My head aching and my eyes hazy, I stand up, pushing past the crowd and stepping off the plane. Burning heat hits me like a wave. I let out a small, happy chuckle. I couldn’t believe the thing I’ve wanted for 4 years was here. The heat, the smell of dust and stone — it was warm to me. It gave me a sense of comfort rather than the scent of gas and car smoke.
Stepping out of the small airport, hundreds of people were piled on the sidewalk. The sounds of the crowds were different from passing by people in Colorado. Instead, they spoke with a strong Italian accent that made me smile. The idea of something new, something different, made me excited — a new emotion that grew old when you’re so used to everything around you.
The buses pull up to the side, yelling for people to get on. I didn’t understand a single thing they said, embarrassingly enough, until a woman with black curly hair turns to me. “Stai andando avanti?” she asks softly, the people ushering for her to get on, yet I have a confused look on my tired face. “I— I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian,” I say awkwardly.
“Ah, Americano?” She laughs before smiling. “Where are you headed?” Her change from Italian to English makes me laugh.
“Naples,” I say softly and awkwardly.
Her eyes light up. “This is the bus,” she says as she gets on, I following along behind her, stepping onto the bus, sitting near the large doors.
