I couldn't stay

There were a few tweaks of interest last week when I mentioned in my "22 Things I've Done" list about how I had to be dragged through the departure gates by airport security.

Oh, yes they did. Well, "dragged" is a tad overly dramatic; perhaps I should use "escorted".

So, there we were -- waiting for my flight to begin boarding. We sat, and sat some more. Nine of my friends came with me to the airport to see me off; nine, including Jason. We sat there, tired, hungover and barely spoke... just waiting. No one knew what to say. Everything had been said the night before, at various points of intoxication. Everyone that was at the airport had been out with me that night, along with a few others that couldn't make it to the airport. There was a lot of drinking, drugs and (only with Jason, of course) a lot of sex. Sad, emotional, drunken, sloppy sex.

We were together that night and into the early hours of the morning. Things were said that made it even more hard to leave that afternoon; things about our future together.

There are a few important points that I must list to paint this picture accurately:
1. As per Rotary protocol, I had to wear my Exchange student jacket at the airport that had a plush platypus sewed on the left sleeve and a kookaburra attached to my right shoulder, like I was a fucking Australian pirate. It was very difficult to be sad and sexy wearing that bullshit.
2. Nick had showed up to the airport as well, but didn't say goodbye since we had fallen out months before. He just wanted to show up, apparently to "stick it to me". D-R-A-M-A.
3. There were a couple Rotarians there as well, but more to make sure I got on the plane, rather than to lovingly send me off - there was no love loss between me and their organization, to put it mildly.
4. I have much of the night before and scenes from the airport on video... that's right, VIDEO. It's the most painful train-wreak collection of footage that I will never be able to delete, nor will I ever fucking show it, so don't ask. Besides, I'd have to convert it to digital and that's just too much effort.

Anyhow, there we all were, silent, staring at the floor, avoiding each other's gazes like we were all awkwardly waiting for me to be executed.

First boarding announcement. 

It came over the speakers and instantly, I began to panic. My hear started to race and I felt as if I was going to be sick. A couple of my friends had also begun to cry. Jason kept holding my hand, constantly varying the degree of tightness. I avoided eye contact with him for as long as possible. I tried to take deep breaths but that just made the panic set in worse.

This was it; I was really leaving.

Second announcement.

We had to start to slowly moving towards the gate at this point. We moved as if the 10 of us were a single giant amoeba, slowly oozing towards the doors. I could feel hands on me, trying to comfort me. One of my friends gave my kookaburra a pet - I knew she meant well but I didn't find it amusing. I wanted to rip that motherfucking bird off my shoulder, but I didn't. My feet started to get heavier and I felt faint - likely due to the mild hyperventilating.

Third announcement.

The Rotarian came over to tell me it was time I went through. Fuck you! But I knew he was right. I was going around the circle for the umpteenth time, saying final-final-final goodbyes, I love yous and promises of writing or calling. Jason was always the last in the rotation. When I knew it was the 'real' final, I began to outrageously weep. I was balancing on hysterical like a tightrope. Jason tried to calm me down, but it didn't matter.

I love you.
    I love you. 
      I love you!

To this day, I'm not sure if one of the Rotarians got security to intervene or not, but a giant hunk of a woman approached me and asked if I was ready for my flight in a very stern yet condescending tone. She shuffled me through the automatic sliding doors, but I couldn't see anything from the tears, nor did I care. I looked back one last time when the doors slid open again for someone else and all my friends were still there. I tried to run back, but the woman now had a firm hold of me... and my passport.

The rest is a blur. I don't remember getting on the plane whatsoever. I just remember the sadness and desperation. It was nearly a 20 hour flight with 2 stop-overs. I was OK until I saw the CN Tower, then I started all over again. The poor person sitting beside me didn't know what the hell was wrong with me. I really, really didn't want to leave Melbourne, my friends, my love.

What can I say? Me and airports do not go well together.
It seems as though I'm always saying goodbye to significant chapters of my life whenever I'm at one.
Maybe I should just stop moving.

{Photo credit: Steve Davidson}