Maybe Once, Maybe Twice(77)

“Flight time to PDK is one hour and fifty-nine minutes,” said the flight attendant, as she handed us warm lavender towelettes for our hands.

I turned to Asher and leaned into his ear. “What is PDK? And what is happening?”

“Peachtree-Dekalb. Atlanta,” Asher answered.

“Atlanta?”

I had never been to Atlanta. And as far as I knew, Asher had little ties to the Peach State. I couldn’t wrap my mind around how one minute I was eating stale noodles in my hot studio apartment, and the next minute I was learning about the curious mist coming up from the floor on a private jet. My usual air travel experiences involved a thorough pat-down from an unamused TSA agent, sharing space with the worst of the worst on a plane: a screaming child with a newly diagnosed ear infection, a man who didn’t understand that the armrests belonged to the middle seat holder, people who thought that taking off their shoes in public was acceptable, and That Guy who decided to belly laugh to his favorite episode of The Office without headphones on.

This was the opposite. The flight attendant unclasped a wood table in front of us, and suddenly, a charcuterie board, chips, guacamole, and a fruit plate was in front of me. I widened my eyes on Asher as he offered me a chocolate-covered strawberry with his hand outstretched to my mouth. I took a bite without blinking.

“How does one go back from all this?” I asked around a mouthful.

“The goal is not to.”

“So, keep making enough smart decisions so that dropping twenty-K on a two-hour flight is just another casual Thursday?”

He took my hand and pulled it toward his mouth, biting my knuckle playfully.

“It’s cute that you think this flight is twenty-K.”

I nearly choked on the thought of this costing as much as my yearly rent.

“I don’t want to know,” I said.

“You really don’t.”

The golden sun swooped in through the windows, and I looked past Asher, leaning forward to watch the sun set along the purple sky and the wing. He put his hand on my cheek, and tilted my face to his, staring at me. His eyes seemed to swallow up the color of the setting sun, and it was as if I could look at him and see a world full of golden light—the kind of world you could only dream of. He grinned and leaned forward to kiss me. The warmth of his mouth on mine melted the sweet chocolate against both of our gums.

I pulled back and stood up.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

I grabbed his hand and tugged him away from his seat.

“We are going to induct me into the Mile High Club.”

He shook his head at me with a grin as I pulled him toward the bathroom door.

“God, you’re romantic,” he said with a smirk.

A couple hours later, Asher pulled a hat down over his eyeline and ushered me past a dark alleyway behind the BeltLine, which reminded me a lot of the Highline. Asher had my guitar slung around his back, for some reason he’d said I “had to” bring it. I could see a walkable stretch of bars and restaurants come into view, just as a tall older gentleman met us at a side door in the alley and led us through a modern, neon-lit lobby.

“Welcome to Illuminarium,” Asher said.

We entered a giant room with not one right angle. The white walls were curved, and there was a vast amount of state-of-the-art projectors beaming down on us from the ceiling. Asher and the man exchanged pleasantries, then the man left. Suddenly, Asher and I were alone in a room meant for a couple hundred people. The lights dimmed, and my heart pounded against the bleak darkness. I felt Asher’s elbow brush against mine as the projectors above lit up. I spun in a circle, seeing video footage of outer space towering around me. It was as if someone had pressed play on a trip to the moon, inside my brain.

“Look down,” Asher said, smiling.

I glanced down to my sneakers, which were now walking on the rocky surface of the moon. I dared to take one step forward, and my heart fluttered, seeing that I was kicking up moondust as I walked. I could feel a rumble against my heels—optics coming from the floor. It was virtual reality without the glasses.

“Welcome to space,” Asher said, with arms outstretched as the galaxy shifted in front of us.

I took in the atmosphere around me, as if I were really there.

“What is this place?”

“I thought you’d have an easier time writing about a woman lost in the Milky Way if I could take you there.”

I sat down on a seat in the middle of the room, letting my ears take in an empty but loud sound—what it was like to float through the stars. I could feel it in my chest. Asher handed me my guitar.

“Play it for me,” he said.

“‘Bonnie and Clyde’?” I asked, referring to the song that had given me the most trouble, the song that would follow the All Is Lost moment of the film. The lyrics were supposed to be heartbreaking but hopeful. Instead, they were clawing for the shore in moments of anger.

I studied Saturn, her rings floating in front of me, and I kept my eyes on her lonely planet with my fingers on the G chord.

I grew up looking down

Held my hands against my ears, silencing siren sounds I flew out the screaming back door every time

Hugged my shoulders until I found your street

Said I was just walking by

But you knew to hold me till I cried

Now I watch you throw hope to the wolves