"The wounds of love don’t always kill, but they never heal." – Lord Byron
Just a mere two hours of flight, and my plane touched down. Two hours, you might say! And I’d counter, “A whole TWO HOURS!” For me, even ten minutes in this metal box is a feat. I despise planes, I loathe flying, absolutely hate it. Heights terrify me, and the thought of not feeling solid ground beneath my feet sends shivers down my spine. Honestly, it’s unnerving to entrust your life to a complete stranger, let alone a soulless machine.
Fear of heights isn’t my only weakness, just like any normal person has their share of flaws. But I’ve learned to wrestle with the others, probably because they’re my daily adversaries, and I’ve grown accustomed to their presence. Heights, though—that’s a fear I rarely face, since I do everything in my power to avoid such experiences. I don’t fly often, either. The last time was when I left my father’s homeland and moved permanently to the sun-drenched land of Italy.
Why Italy, you ask? Do I love pizza and espresso? Or am I a fan of Adriano Celentano? No, it’s much simpler than that. My mother lives in Italy. As fate would have it, she and my father didn’t marry out of some grand love story, but because I was on the way. Being the gentleman and man of honor he is, my dad couldn’t leave my mom to face that situation alone, so he promptly made her Mrs. Jefferson. This way, their families dodged a scandal, Dad became a married and respectable man, and Mom—a happy young woman who’d landed a good match. “Sometimes misfortune paves the way for fortune,” my late grandmother Adele, Dad’s mother, used to say. She was thrilled her son had finally settled down.
But nothing lasts forever under the starry sky, and soon enough, my parents’ marriage came to an end. Two people bound by circumstance rather than love couldn’t keep up the pretense or continue building castles in the air. When I was ten, they divorced. For a while, they still lived together, trying to ease me into the change, but they quickly realized I’d known what was going on for ages. A year after the divorce, Mom got a promotion at work and moved to Italy, while I stayed with Dad in London. It’s not that I didn’t miss her—I did, terribly—but I wasn’t keen on leaving a good school and learning a new language. I visited Mom during holidays and school breaks. Of course, that wasn’t enough for her, and she often tried to convince me to move in with her. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Besides, she was always busy, and in London, I had my family and close friends.
“Miss, could you move along, please? Or have you fallen asleep in the aisle?” a gruff male voice barked behind me. “Do you hear me? Are you paralyzed or something?” he continued, sparking a wave of irritation and anger in me. So what if I zoned out for a moment? What’s the big deal?! What a rude jerk! Without overthinking it, I turned to face him and, as if by accident, let my backpack slip and land on his foot.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m such a klutz! Please forgive me!” I forced the words out, though I didn’t feel the least bit sorry. Quite the opposite, actually. I picked up my bag, straightened up, and prepared to feign concern. On the count of three, let’s go.
I looked up at the man, and that was it: my heart stopped. I forgot how to breathe, my hands grew clammy, the air felt stifling, and my pulse raced as if I’d just run a marathon. He stared right at me, his eyes studying me, while his lips curved into the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen.
“I know you did that on purpose, and don’t even try to deny it,” he said, flashing that smile again. Well, look at Mr. Smartypants, figuring it out right away. Fine, you deserved it.
“It was an accident, I’m sorry! You just startled me, that’s all!” I replied, turning on my heel and hurrying toward the exit. I needed to get out of here. Now!
I hadn’t even taken a step closer to the exit when I felt someone grab my arm. I had no intention of sticking around to listen to a lecture, so I calmly kept walking toward the door. But no such luck. The man, still holding my arm, yanked me around 180 degrees until we were face to face. Our eyes locked, and I drowned in the depths of his gaze once more. “Good Lord, what’s happening to me? I need to stop this, right now!”
“What do you think you’re doing?” I asked, dreading to even imagine what might happen next. Why did he chase after me? Why stop me? My thoughts tangled in my head, and I didn’t know what to do. This was the last thing I needed right now.
“Well, you started it,” he replied calmly. “And besides, I wanted to introduce myself.”
“Of course, he wanted to introduce himself. Saw a pretty girl and decided to flirt. Typical. And here I was, thinking… ugh!”
“I’m Andrew. Andrew Johnson!” he said in that same calm tone.
“Nice to meet you, Andrew,” I lied. Nice? Hardly. What a persistent guy. Probably flirts with every girl he meets.
“Nice to meet you too! Though I didn’t catch your name?” he said, still holding my hand. Probably afraid I’d bolt. His touch sent electric shocks through my body, my heart raced faster and faster, and I felt awkward. He noticed my unease but didn’t let on. “Goodness, what strong hands he has! No, pull yourself together! What are you even thinking? Oh God, what did he ask? Right, my name! My… name… hmm… what name do girls usually give when meeting guys at clubs? Krista… Natasha… Monique? Ugh, none of them fit.”
“I didn’t introduce myself, actually. And in a free country where equality reigns, I’m not obligated to answer you!” There, take that! Mr. Casanova! I stared at him, but I didn’t see the reaction I expected. Did he not hear me? Or is he waiting for me to cave? Nope, not happening! If we’re playing without rules, don’t expect any hints or help from me.
We stood there for a few seconds, just looking at each other, though it felt like an eternity. He gazed into my eyes, and I melted under his stare, feeling a current run through my body, turning into tiny goosebumps that spread across my skin, making it burn. I was suffocating! I couldn’t breathe! But it shouldn’t be like this! I’m stronger than this! Enough! This means nothing!
I broke the contact first, pulling free from his iron grip. I adjusted my jacket and prepared to strike back, but my opponent read my mood and beat me to it.
“You’re not an easy one, are you? I thought girls like you didn’t exist anymore. Extinct! And yet, here you are! Planning to play hard to get from the very first meeting? Give me half an hour, and I’ll find out your name and everything about your life, from the day you were born!” he said, a hint of anger in his voice, emphasizing every word as if it should matter to me. Pfft!
“Good luck with that!” I managed to reply just as my phone rang, saving Mr. “I’m So Cool” from the full force of my wrath. I pulled the phone from my pocket and answered without even checking who it was, politely waving goodbye to Mr. Johnson.
“Losing one battle doesn’t scare me. I can still win the war,” he shouted after me. “We’ll meet again, miss!” he added, but I pretended not to hear.
Well, the first move is made, Mr. Johnson. Hold on tight! You should’ve let your ego take a backseat, or you’ll lose not just the battle, but the whole war!
***
I stepped outside and breathed in the crisp air.
“Hello, London! Long time no see! Did you miss me? Silent, huh? Well, you’re as cold as your weather! But I missed you, and quite a lot!”
“Lizzie!” a voice blared through the phone. It was my mom. She always yells so loud, even the dead could hear her.
“I can hear you just fine, Mom! No need to shout!”
“I’m not shouting! I thought the connection was bad. Or were you ignoring me on purpose?”
“Yeah, sure, on purpose. Missed me already?” I asked, more for her sake than mine. She can’t go without these little displays of affection.
“And you haven’t, I suppose? Oh, Lizzie! I gave birth to you, fed you, raised you, ruined my figure! And you don’t even miss me!” She always does this, playing the guilt card.
“Mom, I’m thrilled to hear your voice! I’d love to chat, but Alfred’s waiting for me. I’ll call you back once everything’s sorted. Give Joe a kiss from me! Bye-bye!” I said quickly and hung up before she could protest. That’s my mom for you, always eager for a long talk.
Slipping the phone into my jacket pocket, I headed toward the parking lot. From a distance, I spotted a black sedan and my driver.
“Hello, Alfred! How’ve you been without me? Not too bored, I hope?” I asked, and Alfred’s face instantly lit up with a smile.
“So glad to see you, Mrs. Jefferson. How was the flight?”
“Oh, come on, Alfred, no need for formalities! You’re like an uncle to me! And for you, I’m just Lizzie! Got it?”
Alfred shook his head with a grin and opened the car door. I smiled back and slid into the backseat. He closed the door, walked around the car, and settled into the driver’s seat. Alfred started the engine, and the car pulled out of the parking lot. In a moment, we were speeding toward my past.