Montana

She closed her suitcase and paused. With her hands resting on the luggage, she closed her eyes and sighed. For this moment, and this moment alone, she would allow herself to feel the emotions she’d compartmentalized for the past few weeks. In this moment, she felt the pain and anger that had consumed her from years before, but only for this moment.

As she gathered her thoughts, she went over the mental checklist ensuring she was ready to depart. She grabbed her bag and jacket and stowed them in the backseat of her car. Slowly she got in and sighed again. “Dammit,” she thought, as she pushed back her racing thoughts. “No. You haven’t earned this,” she whispered to herself as she started the engine and backed out of the drive.

The drive was short and the roads clear; she’d made a good decision booking a redeye. As she scanned her phone for her boarding pass, she could hear chattering around her. A family to her right was saying goodbye to their daughter, a mother to her left was politely scolding her anxious toddler. The airport was small and relatively quiet. She took her printed boarding pass and made her way through security to the gate.

Slumped in her chair, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of a screen. To most she’d look well put together. Nice jeans, a soft V-neck t-shirt topped off with a perfectly tailored black blazer. Her makeup was immaculately done, and her hair perfectly pulled back in a high ponytail — “don’t let them see you,” she thought as she prepared in her bathroom. However, if someone looked closer, they’d see her eyes were dark with fatigue and the distant look they gave told a story that she was trying to hide. She hadn’t slept in days. When she did, she was awakened from the same terrible nightmare — a figure falling into the ground, but not being able to catch them as she screamed with outstretched arms. They were gone, and she’d wake up in a cold sweat.

In the terminal, she stared blankly out the window as her plane rolled to the gate. She patiently watched the previous passengers exit the plane and shuffle through the room. Their voicec bounced off her, but she sat in her continued silence, knowing her time was drawing closer. The moments ticked by and her heart ached, and she could feel the rage simmering underneath her skins surface. At that moment, a small boy walked by and dropped his pillow. She picked it up and handed it back to him. “Thank you,” he shyly muttered to her and it was all she needed to choke the feelings back, yet one more time.

Once boarding began, she found her seat, a window seat, at the front of the plane. A quick on and off is what she needed. And the window. The window would allow her to not face the other passengers if she didn’t feel she could, and she knew she couldn’t. As she latched her seat buckle closed, she let out another sigh. This one of relief. This was the biggest step and now she’s taken it. No turning back.

An elderly woman with a faint musk scent, the same one you associate with your grandmother’s home, sat next to her. The woman turned to her and introduced herself as Beatrice. Beatrice was warm and likely a good seat companion, but as she turned back toward the window, Beatrice understood that her company would not be needed for this trip.

Halfway through the flight she’d dismissed the attendant offering refreshments. While she was famished, the idea of eating now made her nauseous. Instead, she reached below her seat and grabbed her purse. Her hand shuffled though the interior chaos, struggling to find a stick of gum. As her fingers glided over her wallet, she reluctantly pulled it out and opened the back compartment. Neatly stuck inside, between her folded cash and receipts was a photo. Old and bent, she slid her finger across the face in the image. The skin was more haggard than she remembered. The lines were deep and the brown eyes that were once so full of life, had gone dark.

“When did that happen,” she wondered to herself. “How did we ever let it get this way?”

She placed the image back into her wallet and set it once again inside her purse. She decided against the gum and put the bag back under her seat. This would be the most active she’d be through the entire flight.

Once the plane landed, she waited for Beatrice to exit the isle. She gave her a half-hearted smile — an acknowledgement of thanks for letting her keep to herself for the duration of the flight. She grabbed her carry on from the overhead and began making her way off the plane. She checked no luggage, just two days’ worth of clothes in her small suitcase. She wouldn’t be staying here long; she couldn’t bare the thought of it.

Once outside the airport, she found her shuttle and made her way to her hotel. It was late when she arrived — 1:14 AM. As she settled into her room, she changed into an aged Aerosmith t-shirt that she’d found at a local thrift shop. She knew she’d struggle to sleep again, so she took two Tylenol PM’s and laid down in the bed.

It was a restless night. The bed ached her back and she found it impossible to get comfortable. Once she drifted off, the nightmare came. She awoke sitting straight up in bed, her heart pounding so fast and hard, she could feel it in her head. She walked to the bathroom and splashed warm water on her face. Looking into the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. The lack of sleep had wrecked her once perfect complexion and her puffy eyes aged her beyond her years. She sighed. This time at the sight of herself. With her head down, she went back to bed. The next few hours, she slept soundly. It wasn’t until the alarm on her phone that she awoke.

“This is it,” she thought as she stumbled out of bed. A deep breath in and out, and another one. She’s tried meditation over the years, but her anxiety has never allowed her to relax enough to benefit from it. She’d try again this morning, but her mind was already gone — she knew what was in front of her and it was best if she just got started.

After a quick shower, she dressed again in jeans and a warm sweater. It was May and she knew Montana air would be cool. Boots and a jacket and downstairs she went. She made her way to the buffet where she grabbed a saucer of scrambled eggs and coffee. The eggs were bland, and the coffee burnt, but she didn’t mind. Anything to give her the fuel she needed for the next few hours. The cab she called for had arrived. Another deep breath and out the door she walked.

She handed the driver an address and he programmed it into his GPS.

“Ma’am, this is a rest stop. Is that where you’re meanin’ to go?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, not willing to elaborate more.

“Okay, ma’am,” he said as he pulled away from the hotel.

The drive should take just under a half hour and she hoped that her driver could remain silent for that long.

“Meeting someone, or just need a good breakfast? I know places a lot closer, if you’d rather,” he pressed.

She appreciated his kindness, but she desperately wanted him to stop talking. Quiet. Quiet is what she required in this moment.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t mind the drive,” she replied politely.

They sat in silence for the duration of the drive. When he pulled into the parking lot, she paid her fair, but before she could get out, he said, “Ma’am, there’s not a lot of cabs this way. I can wait here for a bit if you need me too. I swear I don’t mind.”

She gave him a warm smile, at least the best she could muster and thanked him, but assured him she’d be okay.

She made her way inside and found the diner. She asked for a table by the window that overlooked the mountains. She was just outside of Missoula and sitting there for the first time she could understand why someone would live here. Across the parking lot, the mountain tops were still dusted with snow, just like out of a painting. It was so still, so beautiful. This was the view.

After finishing her coffee, she walked out to the parking lot. Thanks to early morning breakfast goers, it was bustling — mostly truckers who’d nod at her as they passed. People were friendly, and they weren’t asking questions. She liked that.

She walked to the back of the lot where trucks would pull in to sleep overnight. Most had left for the day, making it easy to find the section she remembered in the photo.

“This is it,” she thought, as she sat her purse on the ground. She chuckled to herself when she remembered being told once that setting your purse on the floor was bad luck. If only they knew that this spot could not bring her any worse luck than it already had. She sat down in the grass at the edge of the lot. She let her fingers run through the blades that were trying to come alive on this brisk spring morning. She inhaled deeply as she stared at the truck stop before her. This was the spot.

She sat there with only the sound of her breathing for some time, never glancing at her watch. Time didn’t matter now, this was needed. This moment. However long it took, she would stay here in this moment.

A tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek. This is the first one she’s cried since the news came three weeks ago. She didn’t wipe it away, instead, she let the warmth sting her cheek as she sat there.

Once enough time had passed for her to collect herself, she grabbed her purse and stood up. She counted 100 paces into the field ahead of her. She stood there, facing this great mountain ahead, before giving a quick glance over her shoulder to the spot she sat just before. She reached into her bag and pulled out a wooden box. It was about 4 inches by 4 inches, made of black oak with a Celtic tree carved into the top. She unlatched the hook and took out a small closed plastic bag. She never looked at the bag; her hands knew what to do. She opened the bag and let the contents spill out.

She was broken in this moment. In her thirty-one years on this earth, she’d never felt this kind of pain. She looked down to see the ashes soaring in the breeze next to her. He was free.

Finally, she cried.

All the emotions she’d kept at bay for so many years were now impossible to control. As she stood there weeping, she played scenes from her life with him over in her head — him running along side her as she learned to ride a bike. Him beaming with excitement as she unwrapped the Christmas gift that she still has today. The fighting. The sight of him driving away as he abandoned his family without ever looking back. Those feelings — that tidal wave of emotions consumed her. How she hated him for leaving. How she hated herself for still loving him. He didn’t deserve her tears, but love doesn’t listen to reason.

The moment had passed, and it was time to move on. She placed the box back into her bag and walked the 100 steps back to the place she’d just sat. Here, she found him. He was with her.

Three weeks ago, he’d been a trucker on a cross-country hall when he pulled in for the night and died in his sleep. Heart failure. She’d learned of his passing two days later through an email. She’d later receive his remains, his wallet, a ring, and a photo of where they found his truck.

After thirteen years of resentment, she knew that this was her chance for closure, but even in this moment, she knew it wasn’t hers to have. She had let him go in the spot where his body determined they’d never be able to reconcile and that was the best she would get.

She walked away and back to the establishment where she called for another cab to take her back to the hotel. As the car pulled in, she closed her eyes for another moment and drew in the fresh Montana air. She opened the door to get in but paused just a moment as she looked back over at the place she released him.

“I love you, dad,” she whispered.

She closed the car door and never returned.