Second Chance (13 page)

I
try to
take a few pictures, b
ut every time I lift
the lens to my face, Cat’s word
e
cho
through my head
and I can barely see straight
.
I sit
down
on the curb
, a few feet away from
an outdoor café, and stare
across the street at the grassy field next to the park.

My mom always tells me that you can’t become who you’re meant t
o be
without planting roots
.
But maybe that’s not me
.
Maybe I’ll always be a girl that’s
f
lying
.
Except, I’m learning that eventually your feet need to touch the ground
.
You need to land and refuel
.

Maybe Cat’s right
.
Maybe it’s time to settle down
.
My only questions are
:
Where, When, Why,
and
For How Long
?
Why are some of the tiniest questions
in life
the hardest to answer?

I
study t
wo women s
itting at a café table a few feet away from me
.
They’re
meeting for a business lunch,
immersed in conversation and pouri
ng over notes
and laptops
between them
.
They’re both
wearing black heeled shoes with stylish black skirts and blouses with frilly collars that flip over their camisole sweaters
.
They look so
content
, so organized, so
focused
.
I want to ask them
:
What
is
your secret
?
How do you know what you want to do with your lives
?

I’m so amazed by people who know
what they’re
passionate about
, who have it all
figure
d
out in high school
.
They know they wa
nt to be doctors or teachers or artists
.
They remind me of trees—strong and tall and confident as they climb up to the sun
.
I never knew what I was good at
in high school
.
I never had a teacher
pull me aside and tell me I was talented
, probably because teachers don’t
typically
commend students for having a two
-
second attention span,
daydreaming through class, or
for talking more than
they
listen
.
And there aren’t a whole lot of job
listings
for wandering travelers (I’ve looked)
.

I sigh and lean back
on my hands and
suddenly
a giant, neon orange wing soars over the café’s green awning above me
.
Its satin fabric stretches at least fifty feet in the air and tucked in the center is a small, black, human body
.
The whole creature looks part human, part plane, part butterfly
.
A blue kite glides in behind the orange one and they glissade back and forth, like they’re sweeping a section of the sky
.
The orange glider touches down in
the empty field
across
from me.

My
hand instinctively reaches for my camera,
but
I’m out of film.

I do the next best thing.

I
grab my journal out of my backpack
and use a pencil to outline the shape of the kite
s
,
so I can safely store the image
.

“
Are you seeing this
?” I ask to no one in particular and
I’m answered by a young couple
passing behind me on the sidewalk, both carrying breakfast croissants wrapped in paper.

“
They’re jumping off those cliffs
,” the guy
answers me
.
He
waves his finger at a rise of jagged hills
behind
the restaurant that frame the edge of the valley town
.
“They’re just hang gliding,”
he points out
, like it’s no big deal.

I
stare up
at the cliffs towering thousands of feet into the sky.
“That’s such amazing trust
,” I say.  “
Can you imagine throwing
your body
off the side of a cliff and having faith something will catch
you?”

I look between th
em and wait for an answer
.
T
hey both stare at me like our eyes are seeing different things, which is a common response to most of my observations
.
But I barel
y notice their reaction because an image pops into my head
.
I think people can
be like those wings
,
people
can catch us and help us glide to a smooth landing after we jump and free fall from making crazy decisions
.
It makes me think of
Gr
ay
, m
y human hang glider
.
It’s a sign
.

I
spring to my feet,
swing my backpack over my shoulder and half skip, half run down the sidewalk toward
an
Internet café
.
I almost trip over the curb when I cross the street because I’m still looking up at the sky
.
My heart’s hammering as if I just experienced my own free fall
.
Suddenly hang gliders are everywhere
.
I see them in an older couple sitting on a bench,
the woman using the
man’s shoulder as a pillow
.
I see them in kids holding hands to cross the street and friends leaning over table tops,
talking and
laughing
.
I
don’t doubt what I’m about to do because my split second decisions are always my best.

How did I not realize what my next move needs to be
?
That
he
is where I need to be?

I sprint up the stairs
of
the café
entrance and
walk
inside
a
lobby that smells like sweat and
dusty travelers
.
There’s a line five pe
ople deep waiting to get on the
available computer
s
.
I lean against the wall and grab my frayed, red wallet out of my backpack
.
I pull out the plane voucher for my return flight home, given to me by the family that flew me out to Europe
four
months ago
.
Has it seriously been
four
months
?

I tap the voucher impatiently against my chest
.
Now I just have to come up with a memorable surprise plan
.
I could show up at Gray’s front door wearing a giant red bow, like in those car commercials
.
Or, even better, I’ll design a scavenger hunt and take him all over the city until it leads back to his bedroom, where I’ll be waiting for him
.
Naked
.

I can already feel his arms around me, welcoming me
home
.

GRAY

Lenny,
Miles and I
walk into
the Velvet Room,
a
restaurant
downtown
that
hosts
live music every night
.
It’s one of our first nights off in weeks.
My
suspension
is over and I
’ve
pitched
three
winning game
s,
so Miles has agreed to let me out, under his
direct
supervision
.
Lenny’s taking us to see a local band
called Chuck’s Angel
.
They took a month-long
break and now they’r
e back to their
regular
Thursday night gig
s
.

We walk downstairs into the crowded bar
and pay a five dollar
cover charge
.
The
basement
room’s dimly lit and the wide space has a few open tables in the back
.
T
he walls are
covered in d
ark blue velvet
, as well as the bar stools and seat cushions
.
The band has
already started their
set
when we sit down
.
They have an acoustic,
folk
sound and Cat Parker’s
voice
i
s
low and breathy
as if she has to push her notes out from deep in her chest
.
She
’s
wear
ing a
short skirt
with
dark tights and
an
army hat
.