The Most Fearsome

 Perhaps the scariest part of any trip, or adventure as I would like to believe this would be, is the beginning; the part where you leave. Because once you’re gone you can’t turn back. There is no never mind or forget about it I’ve changed my mind. You’ve already bought the ticket; you can’t turn back now. What a waste of money that would be, especially if it wasn’t your money that bought the ticket.

This trip was something I was so excited for, still am, anyway so it would be dreadful to give it up for something as trivial as the fear boiling in the pits of my stomach.

The numbing calm is prevalent through the night before. I’ve procrastinated on packing until the sun has long since faded; my main concern at this time is only on the weight of my suitcase. I’ve packed and repacked twice now, weighing it on the dingy scale in the upstairs bathroom of my parents’ home. I step onto the scale and back off, hefting the bag as high as I can as I step back on; I struggle to read the numbers off the fading screen from over the top of my straining arms. The math quick in my brain translates to just under fifty pounds, and I hope again that I haven’t forgotten anything as I so commonly tend to do.

Wheeling the suitcase around is also high on my concerns. The bottom is tearing, bought for three quarters of the original price at a department store; it has lasted through my entire freshman year of college. Even an ill-planned trip where it was used to lug hundreds of vinyl from uptown Manhattan back down to my old dorm off Union Square. I’ve used some left over off brand duct tape to reinforce the holes in the bottom and hope that it won’t fall apart on this trip.

The brief hours of sleep are hard to find as excitement breeds in the recesses of my mind. It lives there as a weightless feeling, my body without substance while reflecting on the coming months.

It’s not until the long drive from my parent’s home to the airport in D.C. that the fear begins to creep in, the anxiety clenching my stomach with the illest of feelings. My hands shake subtly as my lungs expand past the boundaries of my ribcage, refusing to draw a complete breath. My mother has driven me, however, we arrive early with more than enough time to check my bag and pass security. I hide my nerves instinctively, and, following a quick coffee, say our goodbyes so that I might make my way through the almost empty security line.

She asks once more if I’m nervous; she says it’s okay to be afraid when I’m going somewhere so far away. But my answer remains the same, “No. I’m not scared.”

It’s confident and strong when it flies from my mouth, each word pointed. In my heart, however, there is a beating that feels out of place. At first, I can’t quite place the nerves, but I know as soon as I enter my gate I will be alone. I have never been truly alone before. I shake the thoughts from my mind quickly. It’s ridiculous to feel anxious, and I’m wrong. I won’t be going alone.

The trembling in my fingers has become more noticeable as I struggle with my boarding pass and ticket, awkwardly unsure of myself. Removing my zippered boots is even more difficult than it should be, the metal detectors looming intimidatingly. Though, this is the easy part. The hardest part is the waiting.

I walk down the long hallway to the gates. It’s lined with chain cafes and small convenience stores, a rush of people heading in all directions scatter my thoughts with the sound of their footsteps and ample conversation. When I reach the open space lined with windows, I quickly scan the signs hanging above the gates in search of my own. Walking through the aisles with my head down, I try to shrink a bit to become invisible to all the eyes of people I don’t know because the weight of their stares feels like hands wrapping around my lungs and squeezing out the air. The crowded terminal feeds my anxiety and self-conscious feelings. To look alone is worse than to be alone when others surround you. I find a row of empty seats near my gate, putting my carry on to one side and hoping no one decides to sit in the other. My new phone is promised to work well abroad, however the connection is slow here. I still bury my face into it in order to avoid idly staring at anyone around me.

My flight has multiple connections, first to Chicago then Barcelona and finally Florence. My final destination is the school campus outside of the city center. My arrival time is scheduled perfectly to match up with the school’s charter bus from the airport. I have only one day to arrive and to miss it would be terrible considering my extremely lacking understanding of the Italian language. It’s really too bad I put off studying before hand.

I really shouldn’t be so nervous, but the anxiety makes my thoughts feel weightless and nothing seems to stick. My first flight doesn’t even leave the country.

“Hey Alex, there you are,” I breathe out a sigh of relief as Roxy sits in the empty seat to my side, setting her own bags beside her. We haven’t seen each other since the end of the last school year, and something seems different. It’s in the set of her eyes and the length of her hair.

My shoulders sag as the anxiety rears back a bit; I’m no longer alone. We spend the next hour trying to pass the time by talking about our summers. Conversation drifts to the excitement we both feel. My hands feel like they haven’t stopped shaking since I woke up this morning. For a moment I wonder if it’s a newly formed tremor or my lungs trembling as they grate against air. This is going to be my first time out of the country, the furthest I have ever travelled in my life. A semester of studying abroad in Florence, Italy where the only person I know is the girl sitting beside me.

However, our flight is called not long after conversation tapers off, and as we stand my body seems to find a center. It stills almost imperceptibly and an exhale comes without struggle. My lips quirk at one corner, pulling upwards into a brief grin. I glance momentarily towards Roxy as we clutch our boarding passes and passports in hand and get in line behind fellow passengers, before glancing at the expansive windows towards the tarmac to watch a plane take off. My heart takes off with it.