The View from Above

I look to my left, and there’s a man–a kind of large one–with his head tilted in my direction, mouth slightly open, and snoring just loud enough for me to hear but not bothering anyone else around us.  I look to my right and I see another man–eyes closed, head resting aginst the seat back, arm on the fold-out table, and not snoring.  He looks quite peaceful, still.  I look out the window on my right beyond the non-snoring man and watch the red flashing light of the plane’s wing light up the darkness, and I wonder how many people can see us from the ground. The light–the red–the flash–seems so bright outside the window, against the distant stars, but I know all too well from my life on the ground that the blinknig looks like nothing more than a long-distant wink from the sky.

The man on my left coughs. I assume he’s awake. He stops snoring, but I don’t look at him. I do look back to the man on my right. Still sleeping. Still silent. Still perfect. His thumb twitches. I think to myself how I can’t live without him. He shifts, folds his arms, leans his head toward me and directs his face to the window. His eyes are still closed but I doubt he’s sleeping.

The big guy on my left is snoring again. I still don’t look at him, but I do look back out the window. The red flashes illuminate the wings of the plane but all I seem to focus on are the stars. And I can’t help but find myself wondering, “am I…could I be…just for a moment…a little bit closer, a little bit nearer, to the man I’ve been aching to see?” I wonder if, just for these few hours that I sit here in the sky, if he’s watching me–the same way I watch this man to my right–or listen to this man on my left. I wonder if he feels a little bit closer to me as well–as if I popped up for a brief visit. Maybe he’s laughing at me because he knows it’s foolish to think that a plane ride will bring me closer to him. Maybe he feels sorry for me for the exact same reason. I think he might be…proud. Proud.  I think he might be proud. Of me. Of the person I’ve become over the past 30 years. Of the person I’ve grown into since he left.

I think he approves of the life I’m building for myself and I think he even approves of the man–the quiet man, the perfect man–on my right. The perfect man–that I can’t live without–wakes up, adjusts the arm rest, puts his head on my shoulder. He smiles and kisses my arm and I know I’m right. And I suddenly feel like a pretty lucky girl. Because I have one perfect man to love me, protect me, and live my dreams out loud with me; and I have another man, doing the exact same thing, within me. And that man–the best I’ve ever known–is saying to me, “You looked beautiful this weekend–standing on the cliff, overlooking the ocean; I was with you then, and I’m with you now.” And he’s grinning, because, well, that’s what he does when he’s happy. And he’s happy because he knows I know his mind, his thoughts. And as my plane starts its descent, he’s taught me that the sky isn’t where I’m closest to his heart, his heart is within me and beats through mine and lives through me. And he says to me, “If you listen, I’m always talking. Sending you love, hugs, and approval. You told me not to worry about you, so let go of worrying about me. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m your dad,” he says. With a smile.the cliff

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“A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it.” ― Roald Dahl.
I’ve been writing my whole life. I know nothing more, nothing different. My earliest writing memory was a poem that I wrote in the sixth grade, “The Story.” I knew at 13 years old that I loved to write, and I haven’t stopped writing since. Currently I write for blogs, for businesses, for professionals, and for my own soul. My passion is my pleasure, and I love the written word. Thank you for stopping by my site and for taking a tour of my small little world. I hope that you find all that you never knew you needed. Read More About Me

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