The Last Leg

It's Saturday morning and my closed blinds aren't fullfilling their purpose of keeping the light out of my hotel room. I can hear the rumbling of car engines outside my window as I lay in bed admiring the ambition of those wild with life on this weekend morning. My bed sheets are twisted and my pillow is stained with last nights eye makeup. I'm an emotional wreck. Its the final leg of my last flight as an attendant.

He was a solid six foot with dark hair, green eyes and pearly whites. His uniform fit him well and he walked with a air of confidence as he settled into the cockpit of the 747 I attended on. He was charming, charismatic and friendly with everyone...Jesus. I sound like a sappy romance novel you find in the clearance aisle at Barnes and Noble. I want to to gag.

Moving along. Over the course of the first few months we struck up quite the flirtatious romance. These were cued with simple jestures. The morning smiles that make your heart flutter and the hand on the lower back as your passing behind in the aisle; were a few of the moments that I looked foward to. It blossomed into quite the romance. We'd jetset across the country with overnight stays in different cities. We'd eat fancy dinners and enjoyed each other to the max. It was exhilirating. Just one little hiccup; I was a secret. Ryan was married.

Now, I'm 32 years old. I know, I should know better. I should be better. I get it. Sometimes the little chemical reactions that occur in your brain are often oblivious to the consequences and moral choices presented. I...messed up!

Over time, people began to notice the chemistry. The shifty eyes and whispers form other attendants on the plane started to up my heart rate into overdrive. I'd deny with flushed cheeks that anything was going on. Ryan started to notice as well. He started to feel the pressure of the glaring gazes and judgmental stares. This in turn promted him to distance himself from me out of nowhere.

At this point I wish I coould say I walked away. Did I though? C'mon. The co-dependent childhood trauma crept up and I litereally began to cling on to something that was beyond toxic to my health. I I would go out of my way to "run into him". I would take flights I knew he'd be on. I would text twenty times a day waiting for a response. Nothing came. I embarrassed myself. I was a blip on the radar of his life. Perhaps a filler to this fantasy life he led while at work. I put in my two weeks 13 days ago.

BZZZZZZ. My reminiscing is interrupted by a text on my phone. Its him.

FSS. For shits sake.

"I'M SORRY. I didnt mean to hurt you." It reads

To answer or not to answer...cue the dopamine levels.

"For what?" I respond.

"Let me take you to dinner tonight. I know this is our last flight together." Damnit I'm a sucker.

BZZZZZZ. Again before I have the chance to respond. "Please Les? One last time."

We're headed home tomorrow from Chicago.

"Fine," My reply. Show no emotion.

It's 6:30 pm today, I am ready for dinner. My hair is brushed into soft waves and my lips are stained in a warm nude that compliments my skin.

I sit down at a small hole in the wall Italian restraunt we had both grown to love in this bustling city. I'm 15 minutes early. I order a Merlot and watch as its poured effortlessly down the sides of the glass. I stare intently as the legs of the wine trickle down the sides. Gibbs-Marangoni Effect. I know this is fluid surface tension. I am not sure if its caused by the evaporation of the alcohol in the wine or the evaporation of my breath as I peer over the rim and see him walking towards my table.