Parallel--Chapter 4

Kitt

January 4th, 1962

This thing I am on is called an airplane.  And, to be honest, I do not like it one bit.  I tried to convince myself that it would be beautiful being amongst the clouds and blue skies, but I was wrong.  Because all I have done is worry, silently panic with fear that too many things can happen, too many disasters, too many thoughts that I can't help but think.

"Are you alright?"

My mind skips a beat and I'm brought back to the present, "Hmm?"-ing unintentionally, staring up into the eyes of my father whose eyebrows crease with concern.  And then I realize I'm gripping his arm, nails digging into his skin.  I apologize and let go.

"'Sorry' doesn't answer my question.  Are you alright?"  This time, he grins softly, craning his neck to look at me, and I want nothing more than to hug his neck, have him cradle me, to not let go until we land.

But I don't.  I swallow the lump in my throat and lean over to see if Mom is preoccupied. She is curled under a thin blanket, red lips slightly apart, chest moving in a slow, steady rhythm.  I turn back to Dad and say, "I'm just...scared, I suppose."

"Of what?"

I shrug, hoping it comes off blase`.  "Nothing...I just fear something will--you know--happen or something..."  This time I dig my nails in my arm, leaving half-moon crevices in its wake.

"To the plane you mean?"

I grip harder, trying to erase the thoughts, the images in my mind.  "No...to the people onboard," I whisper so softly I don't think he hears.  And then, it happens--my head spins, past memories and images swirl before my eyes like a montage of nightmares: awful plane crashes; fires in the sky; hurdling landings in black oceans.  

I place a hand to my stomach, feeling faint, trying to shut out the pictures of the awful dreams that haunt me.  Lately, they have been worse--I hardly sleep and when I do it's only for a few hours.  I dread when the sun begins to set, knowing that I will soon have to slip in bed and try to sleep.

Sleep.  I hate that word...

"Kitt, do you need to stand up, move around a bit?"  Dad places a hand on my shoulder, making me look at his worried face.  "You don't look so good, Sweetheart. Would you like some Dramamine?"  Instead, I ask if I could have a sleeping pill.  He softly nods and bends to take a bottle out of his briefcase.  "Here you are," and he hands over a small pill. 

"Thank you," I say, swallowing it whole.  

"Get some rest.  We land in about four hours."  Dad hugs my shoulder and kisses the top of my head.  "Go on, go to sleep.  The pill should kick in soon.  I'll wake you when we're about to land, okay?"

Land into Hartford, Connecticut.  Four hours until we arrive in the state I will refer to as, Home from now on.  All because Dad got a promotion.  All because we need a new beginning, somewhere far away from our past, far away from Los Angeles, far away from the pain that clouds our lives in the smog of California.

I've seen pictures of Hartford, heard how beautiful and pleasant it is, been told it's a wonderful place to grow up in, that this slice of heaven on the East Coast is a charming town full of life and adventures.  To me, it looked like false hope--pictures of impeccable landscapes, photos of lively city folks window-shopping, all of it looked like a staged ad, like a magazine cover for some 1960s Utopia.

But Dad was excited to move, Mom even more so.  They were tired of living their routine lives, tired of coming home to just one child, having dinner at a table meant for four but had only three to occupy the seats, tired of commuting on the insane highways of the City of Angels.  So when Dad came home and announced he was promoted, that we'd be moving in two weeks' time, that his office was located in Hartford, Connecticut, the air shifted into an anxious atmosphere to get the hell away from California as soon as possible.

I never spoke in negative appeal to them, not wanting to show signs of boredom or unexcited vibes.  Instead, I mentioned how it would be a nice transition, a change of scenery, a fresh start before I begin middle school.  They never saw through my lies and that was all I hoped for.  I put on a mask of pleasantness and false smiles and let them believe it.  And they did.

Dad mentioned as we were boarding the plane that we could visit New York since now we're only a few hundred miles away.  He seemed keen on buying my affection, persuading me that moving to the Eastside will be great, went as far as to say that New York now has an automated subway, a fast-traveling train underground that is somehow programmed to run without a crew on board to manage it.  This piqued little to no interest to me; but to appease my father's stretched smile, I nodded and told him that this new automated train sounded fascinating and that when we road trip to New York we should definitely take a ride on it.  At this he became exuberant; even my mother who had been silent since leaving the house smiled and said in her sweet voice how she's looking forward to this road trip of ours.  But even though she smiled, even though her voice seemed normal, I could still see the hurt behind her eyes, the longing for something she will never have again, the pained look one has when leaving something dear behind. And in that moment I wanted to hug my mother and tell her everything would be okay, even though I was having difficulty believing it myself.  

The plane shakes suddenly and I squeeze my eyes tighter.  It's just turbulence...it's just turbulence....

The sleeping pill kicks in and I feel myself fade away, my mind slipping, my body going limp, my eyelids a hundred pounds.  

The turbulence subsides as I drift off.

"Okay," I finally answer my father.  And before I know it I'm fading into an unconscious state; but before I fall completely, I pray silently that it's a nice dream, not a nightmare, not a collection of faded moving pictures of awful things, no more vivid visions of death and plane crashes that always end up happening in real life once I wake up.