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

I imagined hotel rooms, ocean air, maybe Vermont or California or anywhere I had never been. I imagined my mother finally smiling at me in the terminal, saying she was sorry for being distant. I imagined my father clearing his throat and telling me he was proud.

Even now, at twenty-seven, I can forgive myself for that fantasy. A girl who has been starved will call crumbs a feast before she learns better. We pulled into the departures lane.

Cars idled along the curb. People hugged, unloaded suitcases, checked phones, argued with children, rushed toward sliding glass doors. My father stopped near the far end of the terminal but did not turn off the engine.

My mother reached into her purse. She removed a white envelope. She held it over the seat without looking back.

I took it. Inside was a plane ticket. One-way.