At the airport, in high-ceilinged rooms of glass, all I see is people leaving each other. Outside the sliding doors of the check-in desk, where people climb out of cars, struggling with their luggage, they look at each other with an earnestness reserved only for the final moments you share with someone you care about.
I’ve observed almost all of the various styles of airport goodbyes: the enthusiastic “See you soon!” as arms fling hopefully around sagging shoulders; the casual handshake and curt, jaunty wave; the drawn out, meaningful embrace of long distance lovers whose bodies have already begun training for how to be alone again. Being together apart takes practice and a distinct knack for calendar organization. It’s funny that to love someone from afar is cowardly, but to love someone from far away is startlingly brave.
I want to give all of the affection I have stored up inside to someone who deserves it. I want to be less careless with my feelings so that others will learn to be less careless with them, too. People don’t always automatically know how to treat you with sweetness–sometimes, they just need a little guidance. I used to take his hand and gently move it to my collarbone; once I told him “Go to hell!” when he made me cry in the living room. Together we could do so much damage, so we take deep breaths and thank god for the distance that keeps us apart.
Before bed I think of the silly shape his body used to leave on the mattress. I give in and let the smell of my perfume remind me of New York and the way I liked to rest my head on his shoulder on the A train. I think about how to say things before I think about what I want to say. Sometimes it seems like writers are so busy narrating the world that we forget how to live in it. I know how I’d describe his face but I don’t always remember how it looks. I feel bad about that, for both of us.
We are vulnerable creatures. We are flimsy and careless. We have delicate bodies with papery skin and veins more like rivulets than rivers. When we say to each other, “You can tell me anything,” or “I promise not to hurt you,” I just think that we all should mean it.
[...] The Things We Do and Say, by Jessica Roy* [...]