The Send Off

August 15, 2010 – The Ride To

Before I leave my parents’ house I leave a huge mess in my room.  I didn’t think it was so bad, but on the drive to SFO, at 7am, my parents tell me I had disrespected them by leaving the mess.  This makes me feel like garbage.  I feel even worse because I didn’t mean to disrespect my parents—that was the last of my intentions.  I close my eyes in the backseat and remember my disorganized room: a hodgepodge of art supplies, clothes I couldn’t pack, countless books, and random odds and ends.  I remain quiet in the car ride, ashamed, until we pass Sunnyvale when my parents interrupt the silence and tell me not to think about the mess—you’re about to go to South Korea!  But I’m such a mess though, I think, how am I about to go to a foreign country?  As we park and walk through the still parking lot my mind is buzzing with apprehension and curiosity; I’m still pissed at myself for the mess I left in my room. 

I have breakfast with my parents at SFO, we talk about the night before and the people we saw at Bernie’s birthday dinner.

“Did you see Chloe and Aliza?” someone asks me.

“I did.”

“They’re so cute and growing up so fast!  Did you see your cousins Alex and Lindsay?”

“I did.”

“I think the last time you saw them was at their wedding, right?”

I excuse myself after answering and head to the bathroom to squeeze out a piss I don’t need to take.  The conversation is idle and of good intention but I’m already in a place I don’t know anything about: South Korea.  My mind is already in Korea, the money in my pocket is Korean too, and I want to fast forward to Incheon airport, go through customs, and just get to work.  The longer I spend with my parents the more it hurts.  It being the distance, the inability to call after a crappy day at work, the unrealistic likelihood of me coming home for the holidays.  I wash my hands, come back to sit with my parents, and our simple conversation covers up what our eyes are telling each other: I love you so much, I already miss you—be safe, call us when you can.

 It’s a quarter to 10am, I’m feeling antsy, so I tell my parents it’s time for me to board my plane (my plane leaves at 11am).  I’m nearly in the security line when I turn to my parents for the finale: the send off.

“Well,” my mother sputters, holding back the gushing emotions as best she can.

 “I said I wouldn’t cry…but I’m gonna do it anyway.” 

We both laugh and I’m glad she lets a couple tears go.  (My mom kept her composure, even though I teased her that she might cry.)  My dad smiles at me and in a shaky voice he tells me,

 “Alright, have fun, be safe—remember you’re in a foreign country.”

I give my kisses, my farewells, head towards security and my mother calls out, “Make us proud!”  They disappear in the crowd behind me and head to my dad’s truck…12 months until Billy comes home.

The security line is fast.  I stop in the duty free quickly, step out convinced that Chivas will be cheaper on the plane (which it isn’t, it costs the same on the plane), and I head to gate 94.

At the gate I meet my travelling partner (we’ll call him Otto).  He’s been flying all morning, from New York to California, and he left his iPhone in New York.  Otto’s off to a bad start, but I try to cheer him up; we’re going to be working together and this is going to be the only person I know in South Korea for awhile.  Otto’s from North Carolina, the drawl is subdued but I notice it still.  Promptly at 11 we board the jet and I go to my aisle seat, 38C.

The bird’s packed.  At the window seat opposite me is a reserved American with glasses; he doesn’t say more than 10 words the whole ride.  Near the end of the trip I notice he’s clutching his belly in pain.  When I ask him what’s wrong, he tells me he has some kind of food illness and I can smell it afterwards.  (I’m only half grossed out, after all, my nickname was “Fartman” in elementary school.)  I am concerned though that he’s going to puke on me; I look back at Otto behind me, hoping for one of those expressions like, what can you do, it’s a plane ride.  But, he’s passed out with his BOSE noise-proof headphones on, sleep well Otto.

Between myself and the ill guy with glasses, potentially my vomit shield, there is a young Korean boy who sleeps the entire flight (he wakes one time to eat the first lunch and then sleeps the rest of the way).  Most everyone on the flight is Korean, I assume, and we’re served two lunches.  Stewardesses constantly walk by offering water which I gladly accept (I gotta stay hydrated to fight off whatever the guy by the window seat’s got).  I watch Iron Man 2 and decide not to watch any other movies after it’s over: the movie left the bad taste in my mouth, not the airplane food.  I read, do a crossword puzzle, and wonder about my future.  I think about my family and I’m grateful.

It’s an airplane ride so it’s about as comfortable as sitting in a cardboard box, with a seat belt, for 10 hours, but the saving grace is that there is a good looking brunette sitting in front of me.  She’s pretty, she looks to be my age, and I want to ask her if she’s going to be teaching English too.  I want someone to talk to me, I think, I want someone to make me feel less like a mess and more like a—oh shit…  This girl brought her cat with her from the U.S.!?  In the space where your feet are supposed to be, the brunette has a cat travelling crate…cat included (and I know it’s a cat because I hear it meowing when she feeds it).  So I realize that this girl and I will actually have nothing in common and despite her good looks I’ll tough it out until Korea, besides I’m sure Otto will cheer up after the iPhone loss wears off.  And, of course, until we land I’m doing nothing but blowing my nose, allergies full power!  Here comes Billy, Korea, stuffed nose and all.  What a mess…