Page 9 of Diving In

The taxi finally pulled up to the Southwest ticketing door, and I mentally prepared myself for the flight ahead. I thanked the driver, grabbed my tiny suitcase, and headed for the door.

While I inexplicably always prided myself on getting to the gate early, I honestly wasn’t sure why I did it to myself. It only allowed an excruciating amount of time for my anxiety to reach its highest levels, which then turned into actual panic by the time I actually boarded the plane.

With plenty of time to waste, I stopped at Starbucks. I couldn’t stomach breakfast, but I smiled at the barista as I ordered. “I’ll take a venti black coffee, please.”

“Any room for cream or sugar?” she asked.

“Nope, just the coffee, but thank you.”

I waited a few minutes before my name was called, picking up the coffee off the counter. The warmth of the cup against my palms sent a rush of calmness through my body. Unfortunately, the line at Starbucks had been short, and I was in and out of there within five minutes. With nothing else to do, I made my way to Gate C27.

It always took me giving myself a pep talk to physically get my body onto the plane, the anxiety only heightening when it was time for takeoff.

Today was arguably worse, given the unknown nature of this trip in the first place.

And of course, today of all days had brought one of the first thunderstorms of the summer season, a particularly menacing-looking one based on the clouds peering at me through the airport window. It was like the world knew I was flying and really wanted to test my mental state, as if going to Sullivan’s Island wasn’t enough.

I boarded the plane, my heart beating erratically when I realized I was in the very last row. As I took my seat and fumbled to get my belongings in order, I looked up to see a man in his late fifties in a captain’s uniform taking the seat next to me. I felt a small sense of relief knowing that if this plane went down, at least I wouldn’t be the last person to know.

I placed my AirPods in both ears and turned on Dermot Kennedy, hoping his voice would relax me, even if only for a few minutes. I held my coffee—and by held, I meant anxiously jiggled it back and forth—as I clenched my eyes shut and tried to picture myself anywhere but here. Literally anywhere.

“You’re probably going to want to drink as much of that coffee as you can!” the man beside me said as he tapped my shoulder.

I removed an AirPod and hesitantly glanced in his direction, unsure if I’d heard him correctly.

“The first thirty minutes of this flight are going to be bumpy. Imagine going sixty-five miles per hour down a pothole-filled dirt road, all while sitting in the back of a truck bed.”

I tried for a smile and said, “Oh lovely, just what I need.”

“Nervous flyer?” he asked.

“What gave it away?”

“You haven’t stopped rattling that cup since I sat down, and with the way you’re clenching that armrest, I’m afraid it might break off.” He grinned.

We continued to make small talk and he joked about how he was nervous too because of a meeting with his boss and his boss’s boss or something like that. I was a little unsure exactly what he was talking about considering my ability to focus on anything other than how scared I was for this flight was essentially nonexistent.

“Alright, I’ve done my best to distract you, but now it’s time to go. Thousands of flights take off and land every day, I promise it’ll be okay!” he offered.

Bumpy was an understatement.

After about twenty-five minutes, my seatmate sat up straight with his hands in his lap and pressed his shoulders into the seat, just enough that I was able to feel the weight of his arm against mine. I was comforted immediately. I didn’t know if I found solace in his relaxation, thinking that must mean something because he was a captain, or if it was just the presence of having someone next to me.

Either way, it quieted my fears and made the remainder of the turbulence tolerable. Before I knew it, we had cleared the thunderstorms and there was nothing but clear skies in sight.

CHAPTER 6

Touching down was the absolute best part of the flying process. As soon as the wheels hit the runway, I took in a huge gulp of air, finally able to breathe again. Today, however, was a little different. That usual feeling of relief didn’t hit the same as it normally did, and I knew it was because of this place and these circumstances.

Sullivan’s Island was my entire life at one point, and yet no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn’t allow myself to remember it. The buildings, the beaches, the memories… They were all there, but they were distant, blurry.

Shortly after Fletch died, so did my love for the island. The island that once lit my soul on fire now only held horrible reminders of what life used to be like when he was still alive. Once Mom and I left, I swore that I would never come back… and I’d held to that.

Until now.

Every time I attempted to picture the sleepy little beach town, my brain blocked any and all images of my surroundings. The only memories that clogged my brain were the ones that I’d spent all these years trying to forget.

The reality of my current situation came rushing back to the forefront as the plane came to a halt at the gate, the heavy feeling returning to the pit of my stomach. In an attempt to distract myself, I turned my phone off airplane mode and texted Ivy.

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