Beth Michele: Scarred Beautiful

I look at her lovely gifts. “Great. So you’re trying to get me drunk and high.”

“Yeah. Pretty much,” she states blandly.

My ears pick up a child screaming in the distance, seemingly over a lollipop that has fallen to an untimely demise. It jolts me and I nearly drop my newfound addictions to the ground, the child’s cries morphing into the voice of Dad yelling at Mom because she got him the wrong cereal.

I watched Mommy hover in the corner, Daddy’s arms against the wall on both sides of her head. He looked so scary, and I was afraid for Mommy.

“I told you to get the Goddamn Captain Crunch,” he shouted, and I saw Mommy’s eyes fill with tears, just like mine did when Daddy would come to my room.

“Now get the fuck out of here and go get my cereal,” Daddy yelled again, and Mommy ran out like a scared little mouse. I wished I could have helped her, but I couldn’t even help myself.

I shake off the shiver that crawls down my spine and quickly stuff the pills and liquor in my bag before meeting Peyton’s gaze. “Well, this is it. You’re entitled to my clothes and shoes, even the Louboutins, after I’m gone.”

She nudges my shoulder with her own. “Will you stop! You’re going to be fine. Besides,” she begins, winking and rolling her hips, and I look around to make sure no one noticed her obscene gesture, “you know what people do when they go away to these conferences, don’t you? Sin, baby. Flings of sin.” She laughs but her expression falls when she sees the color drain from my cheeks. With a soft exhale she reaches for my hand. “Seriously, sweetie, all will be well. Text me through the entire flight if you need to.”

I throw my arms around her, pressing my lips together and forcing my eyes shut as if this single embrace can overcome my internal struggle.

“You’re going to squeeze all the life out of me if you’re not careful,” she squeaks out.

Reluctantly, I pull back, dropping my hands to my sides with a sigh. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“See ya, and I wouldn’t want to be ya,” she teases, laughing and walking toward the exit, her manicured fingernails waving high in the air.

“Very funny,” I call out, but that’s why I keep her around.

I grab my suitcase and turn briskly to wave at Peyton one more time before watching her amber waves and perfectly curved figure disappear into a sea of travelers, leaving me completely alone. An extraordinarily happy woman with a blonde bob and straight, white teeth greets me from behind the counter. I feel like I’m in a commercial.

“Good morning! Welcome to Delta!”

“Morning,” I reply, suddenly wishing I could have whatever she’s just had. As soon as she turns her head to wink at the dark-haired Adonis further down the counter, the one who must use the same brand of whitening toothpaste, I realize maybe that’s exactly what I need.

After leaving Miss Congeniality, I check my suitcase and go through security clearance to find Gate 35. I’ve still got about an hour until it’s time to board the plane, so I take out my cell phone and send a couple of texts: one to Gabby, letting her know I’m at the airport, and one to Peyton, telling her I’m still alive.

I can’t seem to stop fidgeting so I plod over to one of the shops to kill some time, grab a bottle of spring water, and some M&M’s to calm my nerves. My heels drag as I make my way back to the sitting area before I finally take a seat and tear open the bag of candy, picking out the green ones first because they’re my favorite. I remember always hearing stories about how they’re an aphrodisiac, not that I necessarily need any help in that department.

The contemporary romance I’ve been reading on my Kindle is calling my name, so I pull it from my Dooney & Bourke handbag and dig in. I love getting lost in a good book, especially one with a happy ending, mostly because I know that won’t be in the cards for me. The screen blurs as a heavy breath releases from my chest before I continue to read about Andrew and Camryn. I’m completely absorbed in the story so it takes me a while to notice the little girl standing in front of me with short, curly red hair, a multitude of freckles, and the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I stare at her face, a happy smile lifting her pudgy cheeks.

“Hi,” she says, rocking back and forth on her black Mary Janes while she eyes my M&M’s.

“Hi, sweetie,” I return, peering at her tiny body until my gaze lands on her Scooby Doo t-shirt and I freeze. My throat closes up and my neck burns. Her lips are moving but her words are no longer registering in my ears. The only thing that is, is the rush of blood. Suddenly I’m back there. In my room. With my dad.

“Remember, this is our special thing we do together.” He smiled but it wasn’t happy like Mommy’s. “I’ve got your favorite Scooby Doo band-aids all picked out.”

I drop the bag of M&M’s to the ground, scrambling to my feet before I stumble to the nearest bathroom. Pushing open the door, I stagger to the sink, turn on the faucet and splash a blast of cold water on my face. It’s a wake-up call, but one I desperately need right now. I’m not that little girl anymore , I keep telling myself, I’m a twenty-eight year old woman . Yet as my head lifts slowly and my eyes crawl up to the mirror, the image of a scared, fragile child with sad, bleak eyes is staring back at me. My hands grip both sides of the sink and I clamp my eyes closed, hoping like hell when I open them, she’s gone.

By the time I make it back to my seat, the red-headed girl is nowhere in sight, no doubt telling her mom about the scary lady with the candy. The only thing that remains are my M&M’s scattered all over the floor. I reach down and pluck them up one by one, throwing them away in the nearest garbage, and that’s when I hear my flight being called over the speaker.

“Flight three-fifty-five from New York to Los Angeles now boarding at Gate thirty-five.”

A wave of heat washes over me and I feel lightheaded. For a second, I consider bolting out of the airport to anywhere. I don’t even care where, just as long as I don’t have to fly. But then my subconscious smacks me over the head, reminding me that this is the first of many trips I’ll have to take, and I need to get a grip on the swell of emotions threatening to swallow me whole.

I grab my purse and carry-on and get in line behind the other passengers, waiting for my group to be called. Closing my eyes, I try to picture myself in a calm, serene place, just like my therapist always suggested. I’m trying, I really am .

After the all-too-happy flight attendant checks out my boarding pass, I slowly walk through the tunnel leading to the plane. I take one last, longing glance back at civilization before I step in and my fate is sealed.

The plane isn’t too crowded yet. I scan the rows looking for seat 4D and thankfully find that it’s along the aisle. I have no desire to be near the window so I can watch as we descend into oblivion. After stuffing my carry-on in the overhead rack, I sink back into the seat which actually feels pretty comfortable. My eyes drift closed, mostly so I can stave off the panic attack that’s headed my way like a tornado. I wipe my sweaty hands on my gray pencil skirt. I can do this, I can do this , I tell myself. Of course, I eye the Jack Daniels in my bag and decide it couldn’t hurt. With a darting glance to the seats nearby, I quickly twist the cap off and take a couple of swigs, wincing a bit as the strong taste glides down my throat.

The white-lined notepad is hanging out of my bag and I pull it out to work on a redesign for one of our clients. The flight attendant announces we’ll be departing shortly, and with that, I take a deep breath and let it out gradually.