Buying Time

I was jolted awake by a loud crackling voice. Confused, uncomfortably squinting and trying to find my bearings I hear:

"...... ning passengers, we are approximately thirty minutes out of Sydney Kingsford airport. It is currently the 25th September, 2:47p.m local eastern standard time and 25°C. The seatbelt sign has been turned on, cabin crew please take your seats for landing".

Home. Three planes, thirty-four hours spent next to excessively sweaty strangers and cramped legs, but I am finally home. The emotions raging inside my heart at the finality of the thought threatens a cardiac arrest, and I need to calm down. Clutching my sweaty hands to my chest I take deep breathes in and out, willing myself to find peace. Praying for my nervous heart to steady.

It's been five years since I last laid eyes on my mother. Five years since I jammed my suitcase full of useless junk and crept out the door, never to return. That night the velvet cloak of darkness aided in my escape with him, every star illuminated the path leading to my own privy part of purgatory. I can't help but wonder why my freedom manifested itself to be a natural nirvana. I often wonder if the moon goddess was against me that chaotic night, there's no way she didn't know of the impending chaos. The path to him was ribbons of light, never had anything ever seemed so beautiful. Nothing had ever felt that promising.

"Excuse me miss, are you okay?", the stewardess startles me, jolting me out of my reverie. "We landed a little while ago, do you need help with the overhead locker?". She flashes a smile so bright I can see my reflection gleaming in her pearly white dentures, her lean frame hovers over me, seeking acknowledgement. As friendly as she is attempting to be, I can see the 'what are you doing' question etched deep in her brown eyes.

It's at this moment I realize I am the only passenger in the cabin, everyone else has departed the plane.

"Oh gosh, I am so sorry", fumbling around to unclip the seatbelt and standing up too fast, I head-butt the overhead locker. My cramped legs start protesting the swift and sudden movement, losing balance, I fell over and landed in the corridor with a hmpft. "Sorry".

The staff were not impressed by the display of a legless Bambi. With a look of annoyance, the stewardess huffed impatiently "Please depart the plane, we need to refuel and the cleaning staff need to do their jobs".

Flushed pink with embarrassment I hurry down the aisle, not daring to turn around, taking a sharp left and careening down the boarding ramp.

"Thank you for flying with us, enjoy your time in Sydney", a sarcastic voice screeches from behind, followed immediately by laughing. My flustered state is overwhelming me, not daring a glance back, I hurry into the nearest bathroom.

With what little decorum left, panting like a madman escaping some evil fate, I run to the nearest faucet turning it on full blast. Splashing water over my face, the crisp snap of cold water feels refreshing against my flushed red skin, I start to calm down . Above the faucet a faint refraction of light catches my attention, I chance peering up and gasp at the sight in front of me.

"How did you get here?", the reflection of a heartbroken woman whispers back to me. Barely recognizing the lifeless green eyes staring back at me, dismal brown hair hanging limp around her face and ghostly shadows undercoating her sharp featured face. Her cheekbones were high and slightly protruding more than usual, she'll blame the stress.

"Don't worry Ella, you are going to get through this", I utter to the echo. It's times like these that I realize that either the reflection or I have to be stronger for the other. My reflection won't do it, so I force myself to be the stronger one in this pairing.

Straightening my posture, then squaring my shoulders, I tie my hair into a high ponytail and force a smile, I exit the bathroom.

Decorum restored, I collect my luggage from the carousel and sit in the arrival bay waiting for my mother. It's been two weeks since I contacted her to let her know I wanted to come home. The excitement and tears of joy, the inexplicable torrent of euphoria that was felt from that conversation, it was otherworldly. There are no words to describe the love a mother has for their child, and in this moment, I am lucky enough to be that child. After everything that running away did to my mother, she accepted me back with open arms. Thinking about seeing her gives me hope and a proactive feeling falls upon me.

"Aha, there you are", I declare victoriously. My keeper of secrets, the greatest friend and best form of self healing. I run my index finger down the stitched spine of my black Moleskine notebook, gripping the bookmark from my last entry and peeling the pages open. I feel the thickness of the paper and passionately decide to pass the time with a diary entry, the poetic way. I’m amused at my thoughts, wondering if poets loved their hand writing as much as I do mine.

As I'm writing, I come to realize that I have made it, I am safe at home. I wonder if mum still smells of eucalyptus and honey. Grace, my mum, is a short women with beautiful hazel eyes and light brown hair. Always in her garden, always splitting eucalyptus leaves.

I never should've left home, too young and naïve to see the wreckage sooner. Too convinced I knew everything of the world. If only I had known that he was married. If only I had known he had a family. If only I'd known I was his second. If only I had known.

When he told me about his wife and the reason we couldn't marry, words couldn't describe the vileness that settled in my heart. The betrayal that made a home in my bones. The shame that clouded my mind. At twelve weeks of pregnancy after confronting him, I called my mother and decided to come home.

"Excuse me, are you Ella Williams?", a tall man about 6ft stands above me in a well dressed suit and designer shoes. Clearly, he does not work here.

"No, sorry", I answer him nervously, "you must be looking for someone else". I can feel my heart rate pick up speed, unlike the excitement on the plane, this is a completely different type of impending heart attack. The 'stranger danger' kind of reaction.

The man smiles and proffers his hand, " You are Ella Williams, I can see the name tags on your luggage", he chuckles quietly. "My name is Mark Daniels, do you mind coming with me to a more private area, this will only take a moment".

I scoffed like a pig and grunted out, "The last time I took off with a man, it didn't end well for me and I don't know you , I'm not going anywhere". Deciding to match his stance I stood up from the chair and craned my neck back to look him in the eyes, "I'm meeting someone here, so if you could stand to the side it would be appreciated, no one will see me while you're shadowing my person". Gosh he's tall, my neck hurts from having to look up at him. He's a giant next to my 5ft nothing stature.

The man stills and shuffles to take the seat next to me. "Your mother asked me to come here today, I've been here all day", I frown so he continues "there's something I need to tell you, would you like to come with me for coffee?".

"No, if you have something to say, then please speak freely”, be still my beating heart.

He continues "Your mother has been sick for a long time and there is no other way of saying this. Last month, before you contacted her, she made me the executor of her will. You see, I'm her lawyer".

I can't speak, a strange feeling starts prickling at my skin as he goes on, "Your mother paid my retainer for a day to stand her and wait for you to get off that plane, just incase something happened to her", Mark at this point is looking at me with empathy. “She told me about the pregnancy and she didn’t want you to fret about coming home”.

God no, please no. God please no. "Your mother passed away a week ago, she left you the house and $20,000 in her bank, you can access this with her death certificate when you go to close her accounts". He looks at me concerned, "I'm sorry you found out this way, but I know you wouldn’t leave with me and I didn’t want to leave you strung out here all night”, he hands me the last remaining will and testament of my mother, along with his business card.

My hope, my world is sinking into the abyss, drowning and suffocating in it's loneliness. The pathway to hell is opening it's jaw wide open once again and I'm afraid I won't escape it's clutches this time.

"I don't want this", I squeak out motioning towards the folder, throwing it at him. "I want my mother, I don't need money or the house, I need more time!". Frantically scrambling for a reason, desperately reaching for an answer. "What do I need to give for an embrace from my mother, I NEED MORE TIME!". Distressed and shocked. I’m going into shock. This can’t be real. "I need my mum", I give up while heavy ugly retches heave my lungs, possessing my body.

Mark reached out for me in a way to offer comfort. Exhausted and frail, I sought out the comfort of his embrace. He bent down and whispered softly into my ear:

"Ella, I’m so sorry, but Death will never sell you time".