Paper Planes

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her – six months or so. She and her mom left New York to go live with her grandparents in Phoenix after her parents’ divorce.
Her mom smokes now.
Every day since she’s been gone I think about her. At first, we talked constantly. She always called me in the morning to ask if I slept well, and I’d always call at night to tell her “Goodnight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.” She’d laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world, and I’d fall asleep smiling every time.
Lately I’m lucky if she responds to my good morning and goodnight texts, let alone answer my calls.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are experiencing some turbulence so can you please fasten your seat belts right away. Thank you.” The staticky voice coming from the intercom overhead blared.
I’m currently on a plane right now, hurdling toward her, 600 miles an hour, waiting. I have no plan. I’m not entirely sure why I’m on this plane in the first place. Three years just seemed like too much to throw away. Besides, what’s keeping me in New York? After my mom died last year New York just became a place where I happened to live, it’s not home anymore. She was there for it all. She helped me through the roughest part of my life.
When I was at my lowest.
So that’s why I’m on this plane right now, hurdling toward her, 600 miles an hour just waiting until I can hold her and tell her that she doesn’t have to push me away anymore because…  I’m here now, so we can be together.
It’ll be okay. It’ll be good. The plane jerked.
It’s funny – one minute you’re flying, and the next you’re falling. The plane started rattling and I could hear people crying behind me. I think an engine failed.  Out of my window I could see the wing bouncing around hard in the wind. The engine was smoking. The staticky intercom voice croaked again.
“This is your captain speaking. We’ll have to make an emergency landing right away.”
I remember this one time – it had to be around twelve in the morning – we walked to the park near her house. She had wanted to swing; she loved to swing. I loved watching her face as she closed her eyes and leaned all the way back. The way her shoulders would tense as her body descended toward the earth, the breathy laugh she’d let out as she relaxed at the realization that she was no longer falling. She loved it though. That feeling of falling. She said it was exhilarating. Closing your eyes and, even though you know the rubber seat will always be there, feeling like you don’t know whether your body will collide with the earth and become one with the ground or not.
           I closed my eyes. It was sort of the same, falling, 30,000 feet. The air hostess is running around trying to help people with their oxygen masks and calming them down. I just sit, eyes closed. I think the second engine went out. I might not see her tonight but maybe, maybe she’s on a swing right now. Maybe we’re falling together, in perfect sync. Descending.