The Landing.

The Landing.

"What do you think hes gonna do when he sees you?"

"I'm not sure . . . I don't care. He's really coming . . ."

I rode in the back seat of my mother's car, which glided steadily across the highway. I looked to the clock, too many times to count, wondering if we would be late and what I would do if we were; what he would do if we were. I wondered where he would be standing. Is he looking for me right now? Has he even arrived? What's going to happen when . . . ? My stomach broke into a frenzy and I couldn't breath right anymore. It was a happy feeling, more or less, though. I scrunched up my fingers into fists and fell over in my seat. I closed my eyes, imagining everything unfolding there with him; the feelings coming to life in motion and escaping through an embrace.


I awoke from my fantasy to a speed bump. We were getting close. I peeked out the window closest to me and I saw it. He was in that plane.


We finally parked the car and I ran out as fast as I could into the airport. I looked around for him at first, but soon after, I just stood at a wall, clenching my fists and tugging on my shirt nervously. I tried to keep from crying as my mom followed in. I wasn't sad, no. I was overwhelmed by the thought of seeing him. It had been a little over two years and I could hardly wrap my mind around touching him; feeling his touch. It had driven me insane in time, not being able to get close to him, so I didn't know how to take it right.

She smiled to me, so I bowed my head and forced one, as well.

I looked up for a moment after a few minutes and saw the backside of a red-headed boy, looking around for someone. My heart jumped and my stomach turned. It's him.

I hopped off of the wall I was resting on and ran ten feet toward him, but stopped short and took a deep breath. "Ja--!"

He turned around, and my heart sank as low as it could. It wasn't him . . . Just some boy looking for his mother to come pick him up. He ran the other way, finding her happily, and my hands dropped back down to my sides. They felt heavier than ever.

I started to walk back over to my cozy spot on the wall, but I bumped into someone standing about two feet behind me. "Oh, sorry. Excuse me . . ." I shook, my heart still beating fast. I didn't even look at the person's face, but as soon as I stumbled away from him, he turned around and grabbed my shoulder. I stopped and turned around quickly. "Kerrin . . ."

I heard the softness of a familiar voice and I finally looked up at him. Within a second of eye contact, we both attacked each other with open arms. We squeezed each other in what seemed a back-breaking hold, but it didn't matter. I would have been happy to break a few bones for him, and I knew he felt the same. What mattered was the warmth and the safety, and the sense of belonging we both had there.

Every moment before that was adding up and building up to that, that one hug that would set up every moment after it for the rest of our lives.


He loosened his grip, as did I, and we looked at each other for the first real time. His hands dropped to my waist and I laughed a little. It all felt so right, he could feel it, too. I fell hard onto his chest again and wrapped my arms around his back, one hand holding the other wrist to stay up. He kept his hands around my waist and we spun around slowly together in a softer embrace. I could see my mother by the wall. She wasn't looking at us, but she was smiling. I buried my face into his shirt and took a deep, shaky breath. I hugged tighter, and he moved his hands up and down my back. I sighed in happiness and clung tighter.


I started to cry, I was so happy . . . Ecstatic.

We walked out to the car with my mother, she dare not say a word. We sat close together in the back, and he put an arm around me. I lied my head on his shoulder and he pulled me even closer; I cried harder.



"I'm here."