"Lizzie, I think the bad spot is gone now." Maria grabbed her friend's hand, stopping her from scrubbing at the perfectly clean counter top. "You killed it five minutes ago."

The girl gave up the damp rag and crouched under the counter, pushing coffee filters and packets of ketchup out of the way. Liz began to separate everything into piles: plastic cups and lids, paper-wrapped straws, check pads and napkins straying from their bundles. Her calves began to ache and her knees burned from the position, but rather than stand and stretch she worked slower, pulling dried-up pens and stale oyster crackers from the back of the shelves.

Maria sighed and moved out from behind the counter to refill coffee and water for the patrons of the Crash Down. Summer was a crazy time for them with tourists coming by the busload to visit the crash site and the UFO museum. She looked out the glass storefront and saw the line for the latest exhibit stretching around the corner. Resting her forehead against the cool glass, she allowed the briefest moment of pain to steal into her chest. ‘You're too late," she thought to herself. ‘You've just missed them.'

Grabbing a couple of plates from a vacated table, Maria made her way back behind the counter. Liz was now surrounded by little hills of condiments. Her tacky headband had slipped to one side, dragging wisps of fine brown hair out of the hastily placed ponytail.

"You know, you don't have to get all this done before you leave. I promise, this mess will be waiting for you when you get back from Florida." Maria said, squatting beside her.

"There'll be too much to do then," Liz responded. "Max and I will have so much catching up to do."

"Liz—" Maria started to remind her that Max would not, in fact, be waiting for her when she got back. He was never going to be waiting for her again. But Liz kept digging through the misplaced items, oblivious. "There's a guy waiting for you at table five."

Liz looked up, startled, and quickly stood. She smoothed her dress down over her hips and tightened the loosening ponytail, tucking the errant hairs behind her ears. A smile lit up her sullen face and she turned toward the dining room. Maria saw her grit her teeth as she looked at the newly occupied booth along the west wall.

"Oh," she said, her voice scratchy from disuse. "Table five."

Max had sat at table three. Just days ago he had grinned at her across the room, his dark eyes shining with tenderness. He said that when they left, it was for good. Liz loved him too much to believe him, even when he walked away.

*-*-*-*

Part Two: Anger (If you were here, I would say that I never really loved you.)

The car pulled up to the terminal and Liz threw open the door, eager to get inside and away from her overly chatty mother. Mr. Parker had said a tearful goodbye over breakfast that morning, and his wife was easily making up for his presence by talking enough for both of them.

"Mom! I get it! I promise to be careful. I promise to call every day. Will you please just stop worrying about me?" Liz dragged a set of mismatched luggage out of the trunk, sitting it down on the curb and tightening the straps of her backpack. The small Roswell airport was bustling. She looked around, hating the feeling of hope that bloomed within her, but none of the travelers rushing by her looked the least bit familiar. He would come, once he learned she was leaving. He would.

"I'll never stop worrying about you, sweetie," Mrs. Parker said, wrapping her arms around the impatient girl. "I'll miss you every day."

"I know, Mom," she replied, looking over her mother's shoulder, straining for just a glimpse of him. Nothing. She pulled away. "I've gotta go check in."

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait with you?"

"Mom. You're parked in a no parking zone. I'm not going to be waiting for that long. And it's not like I've never been on a plane before."

"Right. Right. Now that you're all grown up, you don't need me anymore." She was joking, but Liz knew her mother was trying very hard not to cry and beg her to stay. She pulled her into another hug.

"I'll always need you," Liz whispered, feeling the tears threaten her own eyes as realization sank in. He wasn't coming. She closed her eyes and tightened her grip around her mother's shoulders. He wasn't ever coming again. She felt anger shoving aside the sadness in her soul and she broke away before her mother could feel the shaking.

*-*-*-*

Part Three: Bargaining (If you were here, I would offer to go with you.)

Liz made it through the electronic doors and halfway to the ticket counter before the tears caught up to her. She dropped her bags and covered her face, gulping in air and choking out ragged sobs. Looking around the terminal frantically she found a bank of pay phones and dragged her bags over to an empty booth, digging through her purse for the proper change.

The phone at the DeLuca house rang and rang, a machine picking up finally on the sixth one. The tears came so fast that they dripped off her nose and chin, but Liz did not brush them away as the recorded message came to an end.

"Maria? Maria? Are you there?" She sounded hideous even to her own ears. "Oh. God. Maria. He didn't come. He's not coming. I l-l-looked for him. He's. Gone."

Her throat closed as a new wave of sobs broke free, blurring her vision. She sank against the cold metal of the booth. There was silence on the other end of the line.

"I feel like a part of me is dying. Am I dying? I never understood that it would feel like this…I should have gone with him. Maria? Will I always feel like this?"

The machine beeped four times, indicating that it was no longer recording her. Liz listened to the dial tone, concentrating on its monotonous droning, willing herself under control. Finally even that high-pitched wail dropped off.

She straightened herself up, wiping at the wetness covering her cheeks. Breathing deeply, evenly, she picked her luggage back up and went to check in for her flight. The thankfully short line moved quickly.

"Would you like for me to change your seat?" The woman behind the counter was looking at her sympathetically.

"Why?" The question came out as a groan.

"The seat you have booked—it's in the middle, between two other passengers. I could move you, farther back, where you could have a row of your own. The flight's not nearly full."

Liz tried to smile, but her face pulled into a grimace. She nodded and looked away. The terminal was clearing out, the other passengers already on their way to departing gates and newsstands. There was no one standing alone, waiting for her, and it suddenly struck her that she had no idea where he was. They had gone and it was for good.

*-*-*-*

Part Four: Depression (If you were here, I would ask you to save me.)

The airplane rattled in the air, swaying back and forth as it hit an air pocket. A loud ping announced the return of the seatbelt sign and the flight attendants scrambled back to their seats in the rear of the plane, abandoning the routine cabin cleanup. The clouds outside the tiny windows were dark gray. Impenetrable.

Liz grabbed onto the unyielding metal armrests, squeezing her eyes tightly shut and trying not to gasp each time the aircraft bounced. Her face felt stiff from the dried tears, her throat tight from holding in the sobs. She bit into her bottom lip and grimaced at the hint of saline mixed with the coppery taste of blood from the dry, cracked skin.

The soothing voice of the co-pilot battled for dominance over the static-filled speakers. The words "turbulence" and "final approach" were the only ones able to break through the pressure clogging her ears. Turbulence seemed like an understatement as the untouched ice water in her plastic cup sloshed, splashing onto the sticky tray table.

Her stomach lurched and her head felt dizzy. For the second time that day, Liz seriously thought about death. It was strangely comforting, really. Would it just slide over her, like sinking into a warm bath? Would it hurt?

The blackness outside the window whipped by so quickly, and the nose of the plane dipped so low, it felt like they were spiraling downward. But the oxygen masks didn't drop, and the emergency lighting system remained off. The air vent overhead hissed loudly.

The city came into view as the plane broke through the clouds. The plane tilted sharply to the left as the pilot lined up for his final descent. Liz covered her mouth with her hand as the bile from her stomach rose in her throat. She swallowed hard, once, and forced it back down. In moments the blue, yellow and green runway lights appeared below them.

It wasn't until the man across the isle began staring at her that she realized she had been murmuring one name all the way to the ground.

*-*-*-*

Part Five: Understanding (If you were here, I would tell you I understand.)

She is huddled in a chair on the rooftop and it has suddenly gotten very cold. The wind swirls about her, cutting through her thin tank top and pajama bottoms. Her feet are bare.

A leather-bound book sits unopened in her lap. She has not written in it for months and months, although she promised herself she would not let Michael's discovery of it hinder her. Everything just got so big, though, that she couldn't begin to find the words to explain what was happening. Now it is mostly over and she wants desperately to get it all down, in case she forgets one of the inconsequential moments they had together. She's sure there are already things she won't remember. It makes her sad. And so she cannot bring herself to begin writing at all.

The air around her smells like ozone. Somewhere in the desert lightening is snaking out from the clouds and scorching the ground. She could probably see it if she would just open her eyes and look out. She can't, though. She has spent the last two months hiding, living with her eyes shut in hopes that everything else will fade away. The few short hours she's been at home are not enough to change that.

Thunder rolls quietly across the night sky and she counts to herself. One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three. There is a flash of light behind her eyelids and she smiles. There is comfort in this calculation of time and distance.

He is reaching out to her. Sometimes she can hear him whispering in her ear. He says things that make her shiver and ache inside. He tells her that he loves her, that his leaving hasn't changed that, that he will always be with her. The fact that she can still hear him, feel him, is proof of that.

The rain, when it comes, is gentle. She lifts her face to the sky and lets the soft drops fall onto her lips and eyelids. The thunder cracks and she counts again, opening her eyes to see the electricity splinter in the sky.

end

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end