The Big Club

The next time she goes on a plane, I’ll be sitting next to her. The last time we flew together was in 2005 coming home from Ghana for the first time. We wrote notes to each other saying we’d give it a try. That was back when “a try” meant a few months. Now, as years buzz like the last few seconds on a toaster oven, “a try” could be a decade. That plane ride from Ghana was so long ago that it feels like a different relationship. It’s hard to imagine not knowing the person coming home tomorrow. Like standing on the beach with waves carving your feet into the sand: after a little while, you’re so sunk in that you might have always been there, staring out at the salty green heaven in front of you.