Anyway. I imagined myself getting up and packing for our trip. I would put together a box of all the essential foods and drinks we would need--wine, coffee, a Brita water filter, pasta, rice, some fruits and veggies, york peppermint patties for me and peanut butter cookies for you, and other things. Then I would pack all the books I want to read and several notebooks with a huge supply of .05 mm lead mechanical pencils. I text you to make sure you've got the record player you promised you'd bring. You do, of course. So that's good. Then I would pack my bag filled with sun dresses, loose tank-tops, skirts, shorts, my bathing suit, and of course, one nice outfit for nights out. Once I'm all packed, I would pack it all into my wagoneer and set off for the airport. The biplane takes off at exactly 11:30, and I need to be there 30 minutes early to pack it up, and I want to stop and get a coffee on the way there. So leaving at 9:30 should give me enough to time to drive over the mountain and to the airport with a stop at Starbucks. I hope they have something other than Pike's Roast...
In my imagination, I arrive at the airport on time. I drive onto the runway and see you standing there--as usual, you're earlier than I--next to a pile of bags and suitcases and a red biplane. You're wearing the cardigan I advised you to wear for the flight. (It can get cold at high altitudes if you don't dress appropriately.) We pack up all of our stuff in the plane. It's a tight squeeze. Now it's 11:30 and time to take off. I'm excited and nervous. We're finally getting away. Escaping all the things that have been pushing against us for so long. Finally leaving behind our busy schedules. It'll be so nice.
My white dress blows in the wind as I climb up into the plane. You climb up after me. Our pilot passes back hats and goggles for us to wear. Rumbling down the runway...bouncing up and down...finally leaving the earth, soaring higher and higher. I suck in air to keep from screaming. It's terrifying but exhilarating. We're beginning our journey to Easter Island, a small island off the coast of Chile.
Once we arrive and unpack the biplane, we wave goodbye to the pilot as he flies away. He won't be back until the last Friday of the month--when he will fly us, all dressed up, to San Diego for a night out. We unpack our large white tent and set it up just off the beach under the shelter of some trees. Then we begin to unpack everything. Our furniture, rug, and bedding has already been delivered from Hanga Roa--the main town on Easter Island--and are sitting in the sand. We unroll the rug and center it in the middle of the tent. Hot wind blows in off the sea. Next we carry in our mattress, and I put silk sheets on it while you bring in all our many pillows--which we pile onto the bed, creating a cozy, plush pillow nest. After this we carry in the table, book shelf, the little end table that our record player and records will sit on. Once the interior of our new home--the tent--is set up, we wrestle the water barrel into place out in the open where it can catch the rain.
By this time, it's late in the afternoon, and we're hungry. You start building a fire for toast and tea, while I put away our books on the book shelf. You get the fire roaring and set up the toasting rack that sits on top of the fire. I slide the last book on the shelf as you ask me where I packed the tea. Of course I've fogotten. (Was it the box with the dishes or the bag with the apples?) We look for the tea as the toast burns. Found the tea. Another round of toast--the first pieces, blackened and rock-hard, have burned up and fallen into the fire. Finally, we have it all ready. We clink our mugs of tea together for the year ahead of us.
After dinner, you feed the fire to keep it going, and I suggest we go for a swim in the ocean. The sun is setting over the sea. Bathing suits. Running across the sand and splashing into the crashing waves. The water catches us up, and we ride the waves. Finally, tired and hungry all over again, we drag ourselves out of the water and make our way inland, past our tent, and into the trees. There's a creek there. We rinse the salt water and sand off of our bodies. The water is cold. So cold. The rocks on the creek bed hurt. They make walking a wobbling, drunk thing. Finally clean, we head back to our tent. We hang our bathing suits out to dry on a limb of a tree. I grab a book and light an oil lamp. You snuggle under the covers. Day 1 on Easter Island.
Anyway, I imagined all this last night as I lay in bed listening to Sweet Disposition and some other song I can't remember. Finally, without even noticing that I had, I fell asleep. It was a restless sleep filled with dreams. You took the biplane without me and flew to Zurich. I was stuck in my driveway trying to get my car to start. It was quite a terrible dream. But I finally woke up, tearing myself from my dream as I heard a dog barking outside. I sat up, rubbing my face. Rain fell outside and slapped the windows in my room. The grey sky leaving me unsure of the time of day. I looked around. All my sisters were up and had already left the room. Their beds left unmade and messy. What time--what time was it? I reached for my watch. 12:34. I overslept. I sighed. I missed the biplane. Feelings of disappointment and the pang of inevitability pulled at my stomach. I wondered if you had left without me. I climbed off of my top bunk and grabbed my phone off the dresser. I sent you a text--"I missed the flight..." You text me--"Rain delay" "Yeah, it's raining here too. We'll have to wait." "Wednesday is 70 and sunny." "Alright, we'll wait until then." "Cool."
I sigh. Wednesday.
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