The Odyssey has always been about being a creative platform for people to share their opinions and works. I've always been against sharing my short stories, or anything. But if I want to be a writer, or journalist some day, that is going to have to change. Starting now.
I wrote this short story for a scholarship during my senior year of high school. I didn't win, and that's okay. If I'd won, I wouldn't be able to share it now. The idea was to create something fiction, something completely new to you, and the kicker, leave it as a cliffhanger. So I never finished the story line, I'd always said I would, but that has yet to happen. I have a bad habit of that. Maybe one of these days I will, or maybe not. Here it is, though, so I hope you enjoy.
Starting Over
The constant fighting and unsettling atmosphere finally got to me. I couldn’t take living another minute in this house. But what could a 17 year old do? I wasn’t legal yet and wouldn’t be for six months. Being of my nature, I began to draw plans, make lists. Everyday I’d walk the six blocks from school to my house, go to my room, and barricade myself inside until dinner. I was an only child so I had no one to protect but myself. The night I received another black eye was when I’d made my decision. That afternoon I purchased a one way ticket to Albany, New York. The furthest location from Phoenix, Arizona I could afford.
My alarm buzzed around three the next morning. The moon shone bright enough to light my room. My bags were packed; I just needed the final necessities. I tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as I possibly could. I didn’t have a car, which is why we lived semi-close to the school. I picked up my mom’s car keys and loaded my things into the passenger seat. I put it in neutral so I could push it down the street before starting it completely.
I was a nervous wreck. Not only because this would be the first time I would fly on an airplane, but also because I didn’t exactly know what my parents would do, if anything. Maybe they won’t care. They never have before. I thought to myself as I drove towards Sky Harbor International Airport. I reached the parking lot and boarded a bus to take me across the Salt River to the main building.
The initial check-in didn’t take long and security wasn’t as horrendous as people had told me about. I hadn’t told any of my friends about this so that way when the police came asking, if they did, they really would be clueless to it all. It hurt to leave them though. They were the only ones to give me hope the last few years. I sat in the waiting area for my flight thinking about these things. I would finish my junior year and start my senior year in a completely different state. Not to mention I was more alone now than I originally thought I was. “Now boarding Delta flight number 3452 for Albany International Airport at this time,” the lady at the counter said into the intercom system. I took a deep breath and didn’t let it out until I was walking down the platform to the plane.
“What is a young lady like you doing traveling all alone?” An older man with silver hair announced. He put his duffel in the overhead compartment; fixed his Veterans of Foreign Wars hat which had gone crooked and sat down next to me. I nervously looked at my feet, “Uh visiting family…” I didn’t sound very convincing at all, but it was the best I could come up with. “In the middle of a school week,” he paused and looked at his phone, “at the end of January?” He put his phone back up and looked at me. His voice carried so much that people kept staring in our direction. I nodded furiously hoping he’d pick up that I didn’t want to have casual conversation with him. He just looked at me. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Stacey and I will be your head stewardess for this flight.” I know I probably should have paid more attention to the instructions Stacey was giving, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the window. We began taxiing down the strip towards the runway. The sun was beginning to rise. Soon mom would be up and moving around, sometimes she’d come in and yell at me to get up, other mornings I was on my own. I wondered what morning this one would be. Stacey sat down and I looked over to the gentleman still looking at me. “Yes,” was all I could get out before we began to accelerate. I gripped the armrests with such force my knuckles turned white. The gentleman placed his soft hand on mine which surprisingly calmed my nerves. “First flight?” He asked snickering like a child. I nodded gingerly.
It was a cloudless day and the sun rising over the horizon was absolutely breathtaking. “We’ve got six hours and thirteen minutes until Albany,” the man said again, “We can be friends or strangers.” He tipped his hat back. I thought for a moment, “Friends,” I said holding out my hand, “I’m Jamie.” The man shook my hand, “Retired Sgt. Marty E. Cummings.” I smiled at him. “So, Miss Jamie, why are you on your way to Albany?”
I started sheepishly, only giving minor details. As the flight progressed, so did my story. A few times I cried thinking back on all the trials I’d went through. All the bruises and broken limbs, all the missed days of school, and the questions I was constantly asked that I had to lie about. I began to spill everything. The man listened intently until I’d completely finished. He stared blankly at me, “As a veteran from the Vietnam War, I’ve heard a lot of stories, but this has to be the most chilling and bravest story I’ve ever heard,” he told me after a long silence. I smiled weakly, not sure if I should be proud or mortified. “What do you plan to do once in Albany, Miss Jamie?” He asked me returning back to the conversation. I shrugged because I didn’t honestly know.
We landed in Albany, exchanged goodbyes, and parted ways. It was refreshing to get a lot of that off my chest. I’d held onto it for so long that I felt like I was drowning under the weight. I collected my things and found an empty bench outside the airport. I pulled out my notebook and found my plans. The hard part was finally over.
I located the bus chart and found 3 buses heading to Troy, New York every 20 minutes. Bus 522 would be the next one. “Excuse me, can you tell me where I can catch bus 522 bound for Troy?” I asked the older lady at the service building. She pointed to a sign with a picture of a bus in the middle and covered bench besides it. She didn’t even look up from the magazine she was reading. I just nodded and walked away.
