Page 2 of Meet Me at the Metro

“Promise.”

“And that you’ll make smart decisions and call us when you get there?”

“Yeah, call us when you get there,” Mom interjects. “There’s no telling if those people you’re staying with are even legitimate,realpeople.”

“Yeah,” my dad eggs on. “For all we know, they could be aliens.”

I ignore him. “You’ve literally seen them on FaceTime at least a dozen times, Mom.”

“That’s beside the point. There’s all that AI shit out there nowadays.”

“She’s right,” he nods, throwing me a wink.

I cut my eyes over to the dreadfully long line ahead. “You two are going to make me miss my flight!”

“Fine then, just go,” Mom frowns.

Tears are filling her eyes again, so I force myself to pick up the rest of my things and start moving away because if I stay another minute longer, I’m going to become a puddle on the floor.

“I miss you guys already,” I call to them as I join the line for security.

Mom’s full-on sobbing as she watches me leave. Dad pulls her against himself, comforting her so sweetly, and I’m struggling to keep it together at the final sight of them like this.

“Remember to mail us a souvenir!” Dad exclaims. I know he says it as a means to cheer me up, even though I know he’ll find somewhere to cry alone later. “We’d prefer a magnet for the fridge!”

I don’t have the strength in my voice to say anything back, so I nod and force a bright smile onto my face. As I make my way through the metal detectors, I steal as many glances back in their direction as possible. Things don’t truly begin to settle in until the view of my parents finally disappears.

The airport is wholly packed today, with almost every seat at nearly every gate occupied and claimed by a fellow traveler. The sound of announcements blaring through intercoms fills my ears as I weave through the passing crowd of bodies. I breathe in the savory and sweet scents emanating from the restaurants scattered throughout the massive airport, not letting the tempting smells stop me as I hurry to my gate.

I know I’ll miss my hometown and the wonderful people I’m leaving behind, but a plant can only grow as much as the pot holding it will allow. Lately, I’ve been starting to feel like my pot is getting a little too small for me.

I make my way onto the plane long before it’s time to take off, but I use the spare hour to send a few final texts to my friends and boyfriend, John.

He’s the last to text me back.

Good. Have a safe flight, Eleanor.

Will do, babe. I’ll message you when I land. Love you. ??

You too.

I try to quell the sting that comes from reading that last message and not take it to heart as much as I initially find myself wanting to. If I put myself in his shoes, I can understand his lack of enthusiasm about all of this.

The two of us have been inseparable since I first met him two years ago at the freshman orientation atGeorgia State University. He had this way about him, with his confident smile and charming personality. In only three weeks of knowing him, he somehow got me tethered right around his finger.

I like the way our relationship has always come so easily.

Steady. Comfortable.

I don’t want to admit how scared I am that thisoverseas move might have that security crumbling because even fathoming the thought that this might somehow ruin the relationship we’ve built makes me nauseous. A deeply rooted part of me is convinced that following through with this program is selfish of me, mostly because I’ve practically accepted a position that could have been his.

John applied toGildenhill University of Performing Artsin the same application period as me but only managed to make it onto the alternate list. So when I found out about the letter of refusal he received after getting accepted myself, I took the news pretty hard.

He did, too.

I know there’s a part of him that is so proud of me for getting in, but I also know that pride can only reach so far while he’s dealing with the grief of not getting in himself.

Now, I’m leaving for London for the next year to study musical theater, and John has to stay behind.

---