CHAPTER 1:THE SHOCK. EPISODE 1: THE AIRPORT GOODBYE šš«
794 Words
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Day 1.
The airport in Blantyre smelled like coffee, floor cleaner, and goodbye.
I got there 2 hours early because my sister said "African time isnāt real time" and I didnāt want to risk it. Tariq was already at the check-in counter when I arrived, rolling his big black suitcase and wearing the grey hoodie I told him to leave for me.
"You're here," he said when he saw me, and his whole face relaxed. Like heād been scared I wouldnāt come.
"Of course Iām here," I said. But my voice came out smaller than I wanted.
We had 8 months together before this. 8 months of late-night tea at my place, of him teaching me how to make proper poutine over video, of Bwino, his dog, falling asleep on my feet. 8 months that felt like weād just figured each other out.
And now Toronto.
A job he couldnāt say no to. A 6-month contract. "Itās good money, Morie. For us. For after." Thatās what he kept saying on the drive here.
"For us," I repeated. But the words felt heavy in my mouth.
We sat by the gate for an hour and didnāt say much. We people-watched. He made fun of my terrible airport coffee. I made fun of how many times he checked his boarding pass.
"182 days," he said suddenly, doing the math on his phone.
"182 days," I echoed.
"Thatās 4,368 hours."
"Donāt," I laughed, but it came out like a sob.
He took my hand. His was warm. Mine was cold and sweaty.
"We can do this," he said. "People do this all the time."
"I know."
"Weāre good at talking. Weāll be good at this too."
"I know."
But knowing and believing are two different things.
When they called his flight, my stomach dropped.
"Final boarding for flight AC 842 to Johannesburg."
He stood up. I stood up.
And then we were hugging in the middle of the airport and I didnāt care who was watching.
He smelled like his shampoo and the laundry soap from my house.
"Text me when you land," I whispered into his hoodie.
"I will."
"And video call tonight. 9pm my time. Promise me."
He pulled back just enough to look at me. "Promise. Every night at 9pm. Deal?"
"Deal."
He kissed my forehead. Then my cheek. Then he was walking away, turning around once to wave.
I waved back with both hands like an i***t.
I watched until the gate closed. Until I couldnāt see him anymore.
The taxi ride home was the longest 30 minutes of my life. The driver tried to make small talk about the weather. I nodded and stared out the window.
My house felt too big. Too quiet. Bwino wasnāt there to greet me because Tariq had taken him to his cousinās.
I made tea. Burned it. Made it again.
At 6:12pm my phone buzzed.
*Tariq: Landed in Joburg. Layover is 3 hours. Airport wifi is trash but Iām alive.*
*Tariq: Missing you already and Iām only 3 hours in.*
I typed and deleted 5 different replies.
*Me: Proud of you. Drink water. 178 hours down, 4,190 to go š
*
*Me: I love you. See you at 9pm.*
He sent back a selfie. Tired eyes, airport chair, giving me a thumbs up.
The hours until 9pm moved so slow. I cleaned the whole house. I tried to read. I opened our photos and scrolled until my eyes hurt.
8:58pm.
My heart was racing like it was a first date.
8:59pm.
*Tariq: Calling in 1 min.*
9:00pm exactly. His face popped up on my screen.
He looked exhausted. Different time zone, 14-hour flight behind him, but he was smiling.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," I said back, and suddenly I was crying. Not ugly crying. Just... relief crying.
"Are you okay?" he asked immediately.
"Iām okay. Youāre okay. Weāre okay." I wiped my face. "You made it."
"I made it," he said. "Toronto in 6 hours. Then real bed. Then you."
We talked for an hour. About the flight. About how cold Toronto was already. About how weird it felt to do this over a screen.
"I hate this," I admitted around 9:45pm.
"I know," he said. "I hate it too."
"But weāll do it," I said.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Weāll do it. 182 days. Me and you."
When we hung up, I stared at the dark screen for a long time.
Day 1 of 182 was done.
It hurt.
It was lonely.
But he called.
And heāll call tomorrow.
In my notes app I typed:
_Day 1: He left. He called. Weāre starting._
I set an alarm for 8:55pm tomorrow.
Long distance officially started.
And somehow, we were already in it together.
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to be continued...*
- Writer
