I breathe it in. The familiar smell of stale cigarettes. It’s stifling and comforting all at once. Sitting in the smoking section at the Salt Lake City airport, I look around at all the other people through the dense cloud of smoke. They remind me of him. Not that they have much in common with him besides their relentless addiction to nicotine, but they do. I don’t really know what brought me to this room. Maybe I needed to remember. Remember what it was like. And this was the closest I can and ever will be able to get to him now. A smoking lounge in an airport.
Closing my eyes, I sit back, and for one last time inhale the toxins into my body. One last time. I get up and right when I step outside the room I exhale. As if doing so will release all the deadly toxins from my body; I know they won’t. There are some things that will never leave you as much as you beg them to. The overhead speaker comes on and announces that flight 1407 is now boarding. I look down at my ticket with a steady amount of trepidation in my heart. I’m terrified. But behind the continuous apprehension there is a small sliver of exhilaration. And that elation is what propels me to pick up my carry-on bag and step onto the plane.
I’m one of the first people on the plane so I take my time putting my luggage in the overhead bin and sitting down. Exhausted, I lay my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. I think about the defining moment that put me in this exact place on an airplane about to take me thousands of miles away from everything that I had ever known. I swore to myself that if he did it again, I would leave. As far away as I could. I’d give him one more chance, one more, and if he messed up, I was gone. I had secretly been saving up money for the past two months, just in case. Hoping that he wouldn’t notice. Until he did.
That was the last time though. Shaking myself from my dark thoughts, I think about all the possibilities ahead of me, and begin to get anxious with excitement. I finally did it. I left. The flight attendant makes an announcement that they will be closing the door to the cabin in 5 minutes, so I put on my seatbelt and try to get comfortable. When I am settled into the middle seat of the airplane, cursing my luck for my cramped spot next to a huge man who smelt like he needed to invest in at least 12 cases of deodorant, I consider moving one over to the unoccupied aisle seat. Just as I make the decision to move, a straggling passenger sits down hard next to me, smelling heavily of cigarette smoke mixed with peppermint chewing gum. A little peeved at the stranger who ruined any plans I had on being comfortable on this flight, I glance over and freeze-feeling a familiar suffocating grip enclose around my throat. “Miss me, Kitten?” He says, with a loud pop of his gum.