On My 18th Birthday, My Parents Drove Me to the Ai…

The ticket had crumpled in my fist. Something inside me went quiet. Not peaceful.

Not strong. Quiet in the way a house is quiet after everyone has moved out. I wiped my face with my sleeve, stood, and walked into the airport.

Inside, the terminal was too bright. Everything shone: polished floors, metal counters, glass walls reflecting people who knew where they were going. I checked in because the ticket told me to.

I handed over my ID with fingers that still trembled. The woman at the counter smiled automatically and said, “Happy birthday,” when she saw the date. I stared at her.

Her smile faltered. “Thank you,” I managed. Security took forever and no time at all.