“Somehow I doubt that...”
“Are you going to the airline’s gala tonight? Since my flight was cancelled, I’m considering going with my roommate.”
“Gillian...” I sighed. “Is this the last late night phone call we’re going to have? It really needs to be.”
“Yes.” She sounded somewhat offended. “I won’t call you again after tonight unless it’s about sex.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You could at least answer my question before you go, though...”
“I’m not sure if I’m going to the gala,” I said finally. “I’m leaning towards no, though.”
“Well, if you don’t go, would you like me to tell you all about it?”
“That’s another question. See you in Atlanta Monday.” I ended the call and leaned back—half annoyed, half aroused. I wasn’t sure if I actually liked her incessant rule breaking or not.
Not wanting to think about it for any longer, I looked outside my rearview mirror. Contrary to what I’d told Gillian, I was already at the gala, watching attendees guard their designer clothes against the light rain.
I considered driving away and acting like this event wasn’t really happening, because I could do without seeing the promised commemoration of Flight 1872 or witnessing the unveiling of a new plane, but I couldn’t get my key to turn in the ignition.
For another hour, I watched more attendees slip inside, watched the rain fall harder against my windows, and as a round of thunder roared in the distance, I stepped out of my car. I walked to the front of the line, and handing my ticket to the security guard, not even attempting to give an apology.
Inside the hangar, grand and glimmering chandeliers hung from the ceiling’s exposed pipes—drenching the room in a blinding white. Ivory clothed tables surrounded the massive stage at the center of the room, and miniature ice sculptures in the shape of aircrafts lined the back wall.
Throughout the room, massive black and white photos played on hanging screens. The pictures all featured various moments from the CEO’s past: He was standing in front of a small white glider at twenty-one years old, tinkering with plane engines and putting together model airplanes with his only son in his thirties, and sitting in a boardroom while starting his own airline at age fifty.
To add to the nostalgic effect, the screens also featured some of Elite’s best headlines, and my blood boiled as if I was reading them all for the first time. I could still vividly remember exactly where I was when each of the stories first appeared in the papers. It was how I kept up with my fucked up family throughout the years, letting the black ink of the press leave bread crumbs the entire way.
As the the final headline and the words, “Nathaniel C. Pearson, CEO of Elite Airways, Credits ‘Family Values’ for the Airline’s Stunning Success,” I felt the same way I did when I was only seventeen years old. When I finally realized that the beloved leader of this airline, my father, was a fucking fraud.
The crowd stood to its feet and applauded loudly—some clinked their cutlery against champagne glasses. As the applause reached deafening levels, my father stepped onto the stage, smiling at his flock of sheep.
I didn’t clap once.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” His deep and ugly voice calmed the room. “I’d like to personally thank all of you for coming out tonight. Before we unveil the design of our newest aircraft, I want to let you know how honored I am to know that our family has grown to thirty-eight-thousand employees who serve more than three hundred destinations!”
More applause.
“My only regret is that my first wife, a woman who poured her heart and soul into helping me achieve everything, couldn’t be here to see this tonight. Her final words to me were full of hope and loyalty, the two values I’ve built the foundation of this airline upon. She said she wanted me to keep dreaming, to keep believing, and to build the greatest airline my mind could ever imagine. She and our only son, Evan, have inspired me to continue pursuing the very best in aviation innovation. And several years ago, the three of us...”
The lies dropped from his mouth so convincingly that I almost believed he only had one son, that I wasn’t really standing in this room. And if it weren’t for the photo-shopped pictures of him and Evan hanging around the room, I might’ve questioned if my memories were real after all.
I kept my eyes on him and his three-thousand-dollar suit, wondering how often he’d had to rehearse this speech to make it sound genuine. If he’d ever stumbled over the sickening twists and turns, if he’d ever found himself waking up in the middle of the night just like I did.
As he spoke of his make-believe past, true memories of him fastening me inside a small, white cargo plane suddenly flashed in front of my eyes. It wasn’t him and Evan in that field flying or tinkering with planes. It was me. Only me. Evan was always far away, in the back of a pickup truck or left back at home, consumed with a new math workbook.
“Now, for the main event!” My father bellowed into the mic and pointed across the room. “If you would all kindly direct your attention to the left for the unveiling of our new 747-Dreamliner!”
I stood still and stared at him as everyone else looked away.
I heard the sound of a drumroll, a collective gasp, and then loud, thunderous applause as the plane was revealed.
“Those of you who are sitting, feel free to get out of your seats and take a closer look,” he said amidst more applause. “I’ll be sure to finish the rest of my speech before we leave, no worries.”
The crowd laughed, and at once stood up from their seats to walk over for a better look. I took one last look at him and decided I needed to leave. Now.
I pushed my way through the guests and headed toward the exit. When I was halfway there, I felt someone tapping my shoulder from behind.
Turning around, I found myself face to face with my ex-wife—the person I hated only slightly less than my father and brother.
“Hey, Jake,” she said, stepping closer to me. “Long time, no see...Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you remember me?”
“I’ve been trying hard to forget.” I glanced at her badge. “Did you somehow pick up the wrong nametag or are you still fucking with people’s minds with your games?”
“No.” She forced a smile and spoke low. “I’m Samantha now, Jake. Samantha.”
“Bullshit.” Her real name was Riley, Riley Cartwright, and she looked as if she was frozen in time from when we’d last met. She was still wearing her blond hair cut short in a way that complemented her brown eyes, she was the epitome of what ‘untrustworthy’ in the flesh looked like. And no matter how many times I tried to rationalize what she’d done, or attempt to placate the past with one of our softer, high school memories, my hatred of her would probably never be erased.
“How have you been after all these years?” she asked.
“Are you referring to the years before you told everyone in Missouri I was abusing you or after? Or maybe you’re referring to the years I caught you sucking—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She clenched her jaw. “Don’t you dare...And you did abuse me, Jake. I was mentally abused by your lack of care, your constant traveling, and your failure to give me what I wanted.”
“Are you going to the airline’s gala tonight? Since my flight was cancelled, I’m considering going with my roommate.”
“Gillian...” I sighed. “Is this the last late night phone call we’re going to have? It really needs to be.”
“Yes.” She sounded somewhat offended. “I won’t call you again after tonight unless it’s about sex.”
“Thank you very much.”
“You could at least answer my question before you go, though...”
“I’m not sure if I’m going to the gala,” I said finally. “I’m leaning towards no, though.”
“Well, if you don’t go, would you like me to tell you all about it?”
“That’s another question. See you in Atlanta Monday.” I ended the call and leaned back—half annoyed, half aroused. I wasn’t sure if I actually liked her incessant rule breaking or not.
Not wanting to think about it for any longer, I looked outside my rearview mirror. Contrary to what I’d told Gillian, I was already at the gala, watching attendees guard their designer clothes against the light rain.
I considered driving away and acting like this event wasn’t really happening, because I could do without seeing the promised commemoration of Flight 1872 or witnessing the unveiling of a new plane, but I couldn’t get my key to turn in the ignition.
For another hour, I watched more attendees slip inside, watched the rain fall harder against my windows, and as a round of thunder roared in the distance, I stepped out of my car. I walked to the front of the line, and handing my ticket to the security guard, not even attempting to give an apology.
Inside the hangar, grand and glimmering chandeliers hung from the ceiling’s exposed pipes—drenching the room in a blinding white. Ivory clothed tables surrounded the massive stage at the center of the room, and miniature ice sculptures in the shape of aircrafts lined the back wall.
Throughout the room, massive black and white photos played on hanging screens. The pictures all featured various moments from the CEO’s past: He was standing in front of a small white glider at twenty-one years old, tinkering with plane engines and putting together model airplanes with his only son in his thirties, and sitting in a boardroom while starting his own airline at age fifty.
To add to the nostalgic effect, the screens also featured some of Elite’s best headlines, and my blood boiled as if I was reading them all for the first time. I could still vividly remember exactly where I was when each of the stories first appeared in the papers. It was how I kept up with my fucked up family throughout the years, letting the black ink of the press leave bread crumbs the entire way.
As the the final headline and the words, “Nathaniel C. Pearson, CEO of Elite Airways, Credits ‘Family Values’ for the Airline’s Stunning Success,” I felt the same way I did when I was only seventeen years old. When I finally realized that the beloved leader of this airline, my father, was a fucking fraud.
The crowd stood to its feet and applauded loudly—some clinked their cutlery against champagne glasses. As the applause reached deafening levels, my father stepped onto the stage, smiling at his flock of sheep.
I didn’t clap once.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” His deep and ugly voice calmed the room. “I’d like to personally thank all of you for coming out tonight. Before we unveil the design of our newest aircraft, I want to let you know how honored I am to know that our family has grown to thirty-eight-thousand employees who serve more than three hundred destinations!”
More applause.
“My only regret is that my first wife, a woman who poured her heart and soul into helping me achieve everything, couldn’t be here to see this tonight. Her final words to me were full of hope and loyalty, the two values I’ve built the foundation of this airline upon. She said she wanted me to keep dreaming, to keep believing, and to build the greatest airline my mind could ever imagine. She and our only son, Evan, have inspired me to continue pursuing the very best in aviation innovation. And several years ago, the three of us...”
The lies dropped from his mouth so convincingly that I almost believed he only had one son, that I wasn’t really standing in this room. And if it weren’t for the photo-shopped pictures of him and Evan hanging around the room, I might’ve questioned if my memories were real after all.
I kept my eyes on him and his three-thousand-dollar suit, wondering how often he’d had to rehearse this speech to make it sound genuine. If he’d ever stumbled over the sickening twists and turns, if he’d ever found himself waking up in the middle of the night just like I did.
As he spoke of his make-believe past, true memories of him fastening me inside a small, white cargo plane suddenly flashed in front of my eyes. It wasn’t him and Evan in that field flying or tinkering with planes. It was me. Only me. Evan was always far away, in the back of a pickup truck or left back at home, consumed with a new math workbook.
“Now, for the main event!” My father bellowed into the mic and pointed across the room. “If you would all kindly direct your attention to the left for the unveiling of our new 747-Dreamliner!”
I stood still and stared at him as everyone else looked away.
I heard the sound of a drumroll, a collective gasp, and then loud, thunderous applause as the plane was revealed.
“Those of you who are sitting, feel free to get out of your seats and take a closer look,” he said amidst more applause. “I’ll be sure to finish the rest of my speech before we leave, no worries.”
The crowd laughed, and at once stood up from their seats to walk over for a better look. I took one last look at him and decided I needed to leave. Now.
I pushed my way through the guests and headed toward the exit. When I was halfway there, I felt someone tapping my shoulder from behind.
Turning around, I found myself face to face with my ex-wife—the person I hated only slightly less than my father and brother.
“Hey, Jake,” she said, stepping closer to me. “Long time, no see...Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you remember me?”
“I’ve been trying hard to forget.” I glanced at her badge. “Did you somehow pick up the wrong nametag or are you still fucking with people’s minds with your games?”
“No.” She forced a smile and spoke low. “I’m Samantha now, Jake. Samantha.”
“Bullshit.” Her real name was Riley, Riley Cartwright, and she looked as if she was frozen in time from when we’d last met. She was still wearing her blond hair cut short in a way that complemented her brown eyes, she was the epitome of what ‘untrustworthy’ in the flesh looked like. And no matter how many times I tried to rationalize what she’d done, or attempt to placate the past with one of our softer, high school memories, my hatred of her would probably never be erased.
“How have you been after all these years?” she asked.
“Are you referring to the years before you told everyone in Missouri I was abusing you or after? Or maybe you’re referring to the years I caught you sucking—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She clenched her jaw. “Don’t you dare...And you did abuse me, Jake. I was mentally abused by your lack of care, your constant traveling, and your failure to give me what I wanted.”
