The flight attendant announces seats upright and tray tables up as the plane takes a wide turn to the left, descending the through the clouds. The quaintest of Spanish villages, some 20 miles south of the airport comes into view. She can just make out the beachfront bar where they first sat, sipping Sangrias and gesturing at jets floating across the horizon. “Adios,” they’d giggle. “We’ll never see you again.”
Ten more minutes till landing. The next announcement would be it is now safe to switch your cellphones back on.
All those years not knowing when he’d return, whose perfume would be on his neck, how long the next bruise would take to heal. All those times he sneered at her, saying she couldn’t make a decision, she would never follow through with anything, she could never survive on her own.
The sun is setting on her week away, ostensibly vacationing with her family, while actually putting into motion the vapor trail to her future.
She powers on her phone.
The past: Behind her.
The present: An SMS informing her, “There’s been a terrible accident.”
The future: Unknown except for one fact.
She would never see him again.