Fiction By Benjamin Thomas

​A Direct Flight from Logan International (BOS) to Louis Armstrong New Orleans (MSY)

 
          Melissa Scott, in a moment of inhibitionless sobriety, bought a last minute plane ticket to Texas. She boarded with nothing more than her purse and a pair of oversized sunglasses she picked up in the departure terminal. She landed in Houston at 9:40 a.m. on Friday, December 7th. There were lines at the rental car booths, so she walked outside and hailed a taxi, asking the driver to bring her to a company outside of the airport.
           The clerk at We’ll Drive, Well You’ll Drive spoke heavily accented english and pointed her toward a Jetta that was at least seven years old. She shrugged, put down her credit card and driver’s license, and waited for the keys.
             An hour outside of the city, down an expressway lined with parallel roads and big box department stores that looked like warehouses and acted as the safe deposit boxes of the American economy, was a town called Grey Mill. Melissa’s brother lived there. At thirty-two, he was eleven months her senior. Irish twins despite not having a lick of Irish in them. At least that’s what their mother told them.
           “Scottish yes, Irish no,” she’d say while waving a cigarette and mashing potatoes, refusing to use the electric mixer the ‘twins’ bought her for Mother’s Day. “You don’t wanna be Irish anyway. Bunch of drunks.”
             Melissa, feeling adventurous under the Texan sun, pressed the accelerator and blew under a traffic signal as it flipped from yellow to red. She raised her hands in triumph and whooped in the driver’s seat.
           She pulled into her brother’s apartment complex and was simultaneously relieved and nervous to see his truck there (she was still annoyed he had bought one when he moved—never talked about wanting one before). On the flight down she had imagined multiple scenarios and decided that it would have been a better, more dramatic encounter if he had come home to find her leaning against his steps like a long lost treasure. Of course, if he wasn’t there when she arrived, that would leave Melissa with nothing to do but sit in her rental car and play on her phone. Time not well spent.
            Her brother’s apartment was a corner unit on the third floor. She climbed the wooden stairs and cringed at every creak. It felt like she was fourteen again and sneaking out of their parents house—though she had those silent steps memorized. She stood in front of his door and stared at the black, off-center numbers that read 308.
            Should she ring the doorbell or knock? Or should she get back in the Jetta, drive to the airport and board a flight back home? God, she was actually in Houston, on a whim. And people told her you were supposed to grow up in your late twenties, prepare to settle down and plan out the big three-oh.
           To hell with that; she knocked. When her brother opened the door, his expression changed from content, to incomprehension, to disbelief. “Hi, Nate.”
              He barreled toward her, and pulled Melissa into a back-cracking embrace.
              “What are you—when did you get here? Why did you—when did you leave?”
         She laughed and, finally realizing how much she missed her older brother, visible now as a real person and not a blocky Skype connection, felt tears well. He looked good. Still stood half-a-foot taller than her, and even seemed to have slimmed down a few pounds, the faded red shirt he wore swinging loosely as he moved.
             “I just got in. Kinda last minute thing.”
              He peered over her shoulder and down the stairs. “Is Carolyn here too?”
              “No,“ Melissa said. “She’s in Boston. I came down by myself.”
              "Oh" He slouched slightly. “Sorry, is everything okay with you two?” His eyes twitched as if he was just comprehending that
her arrival and presence could be linked to something unfortunate. Something she had not wanted to relay over the phone. “Is everything okay with Mom and Dad?”
              To that she raised an eyebrow. “Are things ever okay with them?”
              “Mel.”
             “Relax, no one’s dead if that’s what you‘re worried about. No one’s sick or dying or ran away to join a cult—present company
excluded.”
              “Seriously?”
              “I’m kidding.” She pushed his shoulder with her fingertips. “Come on you should be excited to see me! A little pre-holiday huddle or whatever. Now come on, take your baby sister to the best barbecue in town.
              After a bit of hesitation, which Melissa convinced herself was due to being taken off-guard by her arrival and not indicative of her presence in and of itself, Nate abided and took her to Big Dog’s Backyard Barbecue.
                                                                                                                                       #
             Big Dog’s was not in a backyard as its name suggested, but rather in the garage bays of an old gas station. Wooden picnic tables were organized in two rows. Each was adorned with an aluminum napkin dispenser and trays of different sauces in plastic squirt bottles, the thick liquid ranging from light tan to dark brown. She ordered a basket of pulled pork which came with half an ear of corn and two rolls.
              “And to drink?” The woman behind the counter asked.
              She looked at her brother questioningly. “Get the sweet tea.”
              Melissa shrugged. “Sweet tea.”
              Halfway through their meals, the barbecue flavor overwhelming her taste buds in a flood of deliciousness, Nate wiped his mouth
and rested his elbows on the table.
              “So, what’s up, Mel?”
             She knew by his tone that it wasn’t a generic question as in: what’s up, Mel? How was your day? Or even, what’s up, Mel? Did you catch last night’s episode of The Haunting of Hill House? Despite this, she played dumb, knowing that it would most likely cause annoyance, but it was better than the answer she had, which was none.
              “Not much. Work’s work, you know?”
              “No, that’s—why did you fly down here?”
              She swallowed a mouthful of food, thankful that the meat was soft and tender as it slid down. “I wanted to see you. Sorry it was last minute, I didn’t mean to get in your way if I did. I can stay in a hotel.”
              “Come on, Mel, don’t lie to me. I’m coming up for Christmas in what, two weeks? Something happened and you’re not telling me.”
             Melissa sucked down two mouthfuls of sweet tea and put the cup down with a smack. “So, I have an idea. Instead of going back to Boston, what if, stay with me, what if you and I go to New Orleans for Christmas?”
              “Wait, what?”
            “Yeah, come on, it would be so much fun! It’s only like six hours, but we could make it longer, do some side trips or something. We could go right now if you wanted.”
            Nate stared at her with his mouth slightly open. Melissa looked down at her plate, but her appetite was gone. Vanished with the words that just came out of her mouth.
              “Mel, I can’t go to New Orleans right now. Especially if I’m going home in a few weeks. I could never get the time off. Besides, what about Carolyn? Kiddo, what’s really going on?”
              “Nothing.” Her cheeks were on fire. She tried to extinguish the burn with sweet tea but the sugary beverage had lost its appeal. It tasted like leaves and viscous, bitter syrup. “I just want to go to New Orleans and figured you’d wanna take me.”
                 “I can’t take you to New Orleans.”
                 “I drove down here with you when you left Boston,” she snapped and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”
                Melissa looked up and, despite a valiant effort, couldn’t keep tears from her eyes. “Carolyn left me, Dad’s drinking again, and I just—Nate I can’t spend Christmas in that fucking city. I hate it and it’s killing me and it might be home to you because Mom and Dad make it home for you but it’s not for me and I just can’t. I honestly—I don’t—I won’t make it to New Years.”
              They sat in silence until someone dropped a plastic tray on the ground; the clatter echoed through the bay. Nate cleared his throat and tossed a crumpled napkin on his plate.
               “Come on,” he said. “I got a place you’ll like.”
                                                                                                                                #
                After three rounds, Texas Laser Tag had a new high score. Melissa claimed her prize, and backhanded a bit of sweat from
her forehead. Outside, sitting at one of several round tables, they laughed and shared a soda while talking about Nate’s school and her job. The parking lot lights flicked on and buzzed above them. The conversation was good, and it made Melissa think of home prior to her brother leaving. How they would wander through parts of Cambridge and dart across roads where the traffic only slowed when the light turned red, and crossing signlas were more like commas than actual stops.
              “Remember when we used to go to Beacon Hill?” He asked. “Right after you turned twenty-one?”
               Melissa chuckled. “Yeah. When we thought we were hot shit and then quickly realized that we could afford a beer… for the two of
us to split?”
               When their laughter subsided, Nate reached over and rubbed her shoulders. “I’m sorry about Carolyn.”
               She gave her best half-smile. “Thanks. Is what it is.”
               “Wanna tell me about it?”
             Melissa shrugged and took a sip of soda. Overhead, a pair of bats darted between dark skies and street lights. “Not really much to tell. I’d love to say we had a huge, intense fight, rounds of angry sex and then some make-up stuff too.”
              “Mel.”
            “Sorry.” She chuckled. “Truth is though, things just kinda faded. Good first year and then it was like we were fifty and married. We stopped going to shows. Stopped going to bars and stuff. It just got boring and to be honest the split was pretty amicable.”
              Nate looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound all that bad.”
              “It honestly wasn’t. I mean I’m sad sure, but like I said, it is what it is.”
              “So.” His voice trailed off. “I have to ask then, why the impromptu trip down here?”
              “It’s just—well, you know what it’s going to be like on Christmas: everyone’s going to fawn over you and what you’re doing
down here, getting your third degree and all that, and then when Carolyn doesn’t show up Dad will actually talk to me, but it’ll be undercut with comments like: women don’t know what they want, it’s why you should date men, or even better maybe now it’ll be outta your system. And, I know the breakup wasn’t bad, but things aren’t really going that good at work, I got passed up for a promotion and somehow wound up on my boss’s shit list at a job I don’t even like anymore.”
              “And you thought taking off to Houston was the best way to fix that?”
         “Shut up. I have a bunch of sick days and vacation time saved up because I’m always there, and despite the fact that Debbie is constantly out she still kisses enough ass to be the apple of Cheryl’s eye. Ugh, we need more guys at the office I swear.”
              Nate started laughing.
              “What’s so funny?”
              “You sound like Dad.”
            Melissa settled back, no longer wanting to talk. She picked at her thumbnail while bats continued to dart overhead, nabbing what bugs they could from the air.
              “Look,” Nate finally said. A pair of headlights cut across them like dual lighthouse beams. “Things are gonna be rough no matter 
where you are. Texas has its problems too. Everywhere does. But home is home, and your family loves you.”
              “They love you.”
              “That’s not fair.”
           “I’m sorry,” Melissa hooked hair behind her ear. “I’m proud of you for what you’re doing. The school, the research, the work that’s being done because of it. I think it’s great. I just—Jesus Christ I don’t want to say this—I need some help, Nate. After the disaster that was Thanksgiving, I don’t know if I’ll make it through Christmas.”
              “So don’t go. Tell them you’re sick or something.”
              “I can’t do that. I can’t be sitting in a studio four t-stops away and blow them off. Then I’d be no better than they are.”
             Nate took the soda back from her and swallowed a few gulps. The air was warm and felt like a comforter around Melissa’s shoulders. Suddenly, she felt annoyance at her older brother. He was down here enjoying warm weather and his dreams while she was stuck at home, in a city she learned to loathe, dealing with the remnants he left behind.
              “What happened on Thanksgiving?” He asked.
              “Found out Dad was drinking again. Mom didn’t seem to care, course that could have been because of the benzos in the bathroom cabinet.”
              “Surprise you at all?”
              “Not really.” She forced a laugh. “I swear they don’t even like each other. They just stay together because they‘re both too lazy to try and do something different.”
              “Probably. But, okay, so what happened that made it so terrible. Dad drinking again isn’t a big deal if Mom doesn’t care, right?”
             Melissa grabbed the soda back and finished it. “Dad made some comments to Uncle Vic, several of which had the word dyke in them.” Nate’s eye twitched.
“Carolyn heard them, but she didn’t say anything. Normally she would have probably started swinging, and yet she looked like she couldn’t care less. Driving home it hit me: she didn’t care about what he said because she didn’t care about us anymore.“
              She leaned forward and rested her chin on the top of the empty bottle. “She knew it was the last time she was going to see them so... zero fucks given.”
              Nate slowly shook his head. “Dad’s an asshole, Mel, and Mom? You can’t let them get to you. At the base of it they love you. They do, I promise, they want the best for you, but unfortunately, and what they don’t realize yet, is that the best for you isn’t exactly what they see as the actual best, you know?”
              “So, let’s go to New Orleans for Christmas.”
              “Mel.”
         “Seriously, and then maybe if we don’t show up and tell them we decided to go do something on our own they’ll maybe look at themselves and realize it might be because of something they said or did. Let’s make them actually realize the unnecessary bullshit they put on us. On me anyway.”
              Nate stood and took a deep breath. His watch reflected the street light, and the glare caught her in the eye. Like a beacon saying come with me, I can help you. “Why don’t we start with a good night’s sleep and then go from there, okay?”
              Reluctantly, she nodded and followed him to his truck.
                                                                                                                             #
          Three days later, Melissa boarded a JetBlue flight back to Boston. She would survive the holidays, at least that’s what Nate convinced her to believe, even if she truly didn’t buy it. But, he would be there, that was a plus, and he would help her through it. Plus, truth be told, with Nate back at the family homestead, there would be no reason for either one of their parents to make comments about Melissa’s life or job or choice of partners, their attention would be focused on their eldest.
              She touched down a little past eleven and was greeted by Massachusetts rain and wind. A fitting welcome for a place she reluctantly had to be in. Climbing the stairs to her studio, she unlocked the door and went to bed without turning on the light or taking off her shoes or brushing her teeth. At least her bed was somewhat comfortable.
              Nate landed at the same time, the day before Christmas Eve. Melissa met him and they stood on top of the parking garage watching the last few planes taxi on the tarmac, their lights flashing like those on decorated trees. Snow flurries fell around the Boston skyline.
              “Forgot how freaking cold it is up here,” Nate said. “I mean really.”
              “One of the many things we have going for us.”
              “Sarcasm noted. You sure you don’t mind me crashing at your place? I’m sure Mom and Dad wouldn’t care if I was there an
extra night.“
              Melissa looked at him, her breath puffing out in visible clouds. “You’re staying with me, and that’s it. I’ll take the couch.”
              “If you say so.”
             The couch wasn’t as comfortable as her bed, however her apartment felt cozier with another person inside it. Somewhere, if Melissa had her way, Carolyn would be missing that companionship, looking up as the curtains moved, thinking for just a second that it was her.
She made crackers and cheese and poured cheap wine while they talked about Nate’s semester and the continued rise of Melissa’s shit coworker.
          “I mean, she doesn’t even do anything. She sits on her phone and just makes it look like she’s doing work every time our boss is around.”
               Nate chuckled and lowered his wine glass. “You know what that reminds me of?”
              “What?”
           “Remember when we used to go to the casino, and we wouldn’t gamble we’d just stick twenty dollars in the slot machine and only press the button when the waitresses were walking by?”
              “So we could get free drinks.” Melissa nodded.
              “So we could get free drinks.”
               They laughed, and once it subsided, replaced by the soft sound of Christmas songs playing through her smart speaker on
the counter.
              “You ready for tomorrow?” Nate asked.
              “No.” She faked a smile. “But I told them I have to work. Bought myself another day.”
              “What’d Mom say?”
               The song changed to an electric guitar cover of Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. Outside, the snow had picked up, changing
from flurries to an actual snowfall. “She asked if I knew what time your flight was.”
             He didn’t say a word. Just finished the last of his wine, piled the dishes on top of one another and brought them to the sink. The faucet chugged as it spat out water; Melissa put her empty glass on the counter and went to the couch.
                                                                                                                                #
              Melissa stood on her parent’s doorstep, a Yankee Candle bag in one hand, and a Barnes and Noble tote in the other. All she needed to do was press the button, and yet she just stood there on the shoveled stoop, surrounded by everyone’s dream white Christmas. She could hear muffled voices inside. The clanging of dishes as they were moved. Aunt Kathy’s voice rose above all the others and it was followed by laughter.
             She could still leave. Just turn around and run back to her studio apartment, light the Winter’s Kiss candle she had bought for her mother, and read the nonfiction book on World War II that she had purchased for her father. There were no gifts for her extended family, as that was part of the tradition—only give to the ones you were forced to live with. The ones who love you unconditionally as long as you meet thier conditions. Melissa hadn’t bought anything for her brother either, at his own insistence as she was leaving Texas.
              “I don’t care,” he had said. “Just hanging out together, being there while we roll our eyes at Mom and wince at Dad when he talks, that’s my gift. Okay?”
              “But you’re my brother and I want to get you so mething.”
              “Then be there. That’s all you have to do.”
              Well, Melissa was there, and suddenly she wished she had disobeyed and bought him something—something benign like a new tie, or even something meaningful like a remastered version of a movie they watched over and over and over when they were kids. Or maybe a vinyl record that he could play on the dust covered turntable she had seen at his apartment. Some form of multimedia where words and sounds and emotions mixed together to form a coherent bond between two people (or strengthen one that already existed). Alas, she didn’t get any of these because Nate had asked her not to, and if there were any relative, blood, distant, or through marriage, that she was going to listen to, it was him. So she raised her hand to knock when someone cleared their throat behind her.
              Melissa looked over her shoulder to find her brother standing there, hands stuffed in the pockets of a new black coat.
              “Why aren’t you inside? You left like hours ago.”
              “Yeah.” He rocked back on his heels. “Had to pick up a last minute gift. Do they know you’re here yet?”
              Behind the wooden door were more muffled sounds. Holiday cheer and joy being spread (or at least the facade of it) between family members. There was undoubtedly food in the oven and Christmas movie marathons playing on the television in the living room.
              “Mel?”
              She shook her head. “No. I haven’t gone in yet. Trying to. Believe me, I’m trying.”
              He nodded his head to the side and started walking down the sidewalk, away from their childhood home. Confused, Melissa hurried after him, the gift bags knocking against her legs.
              They ducked inside a corner Starbucks, the cashier looking less than enthused to be working on Christmas Day. Melissa felt for the poor kid; Nate was already ordering. He handed her a holiday drink laced with caramel and sugar while keeping what looked like a regular coffee for himself. While curiosity burned at her, Melissa dared not ask what they were doing. Any procrastination was welcome. Maybe this was his way of helping her, a little pre-holiday huddle inside a cinnamon scented Starbucks.
              Nate, eyes on the snowy sidewalk outside, reached into the inner pocket of his coat and removed a plain white envelope. He put it on the table and slid it across, still looking outside, though Melissa could see a shift in his expression. One of relief? One of sadness maybe?
              “What’s this?” She asked.
              “It’s your Christmas present,” he said simply.
               She glared at him. “You told me not to buy you anything. What the hell, Nate?”
              “You’re right, I did. You’re going to need your money.”
              “Nate.”
                He looked straight at her. “Open it.”
              Reluctantly, Melissa took the envelope from the table and slid her finger under the fold. Inside were two boarding passes, each one for a direct flight from Logan to New Orleans. Their departure time was in three hours.


​

Benjamin Thomas writes from New England where he unequally balances time between hiking, gaming, and quoting seemingly random movies. His short fiction has appeared in publications such as: The Lascaux Review, and Flash Fiction Online, while his debut medical thriller, Jack Be Quick, is available now from Owl Hollow Press. Get in touch at bthomas7.weebly.com

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