Flight Risk

She traps the little bird inside her fist. The soft, round edges of the wooden bird token brush against the cold sweat coating Nadia’s palms. It is a souvenir she brought from home before the semester started. She bought it for herself, but soon, it will belong to someone else. She holds her fist close to her chest and stares at the full moon outside her window. Her short breaths become rhythmic, mechanic, mimicking the faint blow of the vent above her head. In this moment, breathing feels like an action that slowly succumbs to a silent prayer. The bird finds a safe abode on Nadia’s chest, rising and falling with each shared breath. Nadia wonders if birds remind themselves to breathe before they take flight. Is it more mechanical to breathe or to fly? Which one takes more energy out of you? Oh god, he can’t leave just like that! Not before he hears her. He must not leave before he hears her, not before she tells him about birds flying away, how she has seen them often in dreams, and they always come back. Anyway, that’s what her best friend Celeste would say: they always come back. Nadia finds herself static, motionless as she’s stuck counting her breaths. When she realizes she needs to be somewhere else in a few minutes, she snaps out of her trance and slides the wooden bird into the right back pocket of her jeans.

Nadia tends to think in a circular motion. Dr. Sanders explained during her first appointment that it is like being on a merry-go-round, except the assistant meant to stop the ride has left for their lunch break. Dr. Sanders thought “general anxiety disorder” to be a misleading term for her diagnosis. Merry-go-round brain, that’s more like it, he would say. Nadia’s thoughts spin endlessly until something or someone comes in to stop her in her tracks and leads her gently off of the machinery. She would eventually learn not to be dependable on others to break her out of this cycle… but for now, there is her friend Aaron to halt the merry-go-round if he sees it spinning out of control.

Aaron is a third-year student at Georgetown University, where he and Nadia met at a Comparative Political Institutions seminar. However, in Nadia’s mind, the exact way she met Aaron is irrelevant. All that matters is that he became the sort of person who manages to slip by the predetermined path of human existence. She thinks they were never supposed to meet in the first place. Nadia is an exchange student from the Pontifical Catholic University of Rio de Janeiro. The first time she ever left her childhood home for more than a week, or her country even, was to attend Georgetown for a full academic year. Aaron had never left the U.S. before he did a semester abroad at Nadia’s home institution. She feels these facts reemerge now and then from thin air to spit on her face, ridiculing her misfortune. Aaron is a glitch in the system, which is very fitting for him, given his tendency to break out of the status quo in every way he can. The fact that Aaron and Nadia could build such a strong bond and sense of familiarity over only two months seemed ironic and cruel. She knows she will be fine without him, and that is perhaps the worst part of saying goodbye, knowing that life will go on as usual without such an important piece.

The night before she left her childhood home in Rio to fly into Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, her father sat her down at the dining table and held her hands, with tears streaming down his face. Nadia had never seen her father cry.

As parents, we give our children wings to fly far away and chase their dreams, but also roots so they can find their way back home, he said before Nadia pulled him into a warm embrace, reassuring him that everything would be fine. She could feel it in her bones then, the roots weaving into the marrow of her existence, drawing maps in the deepest parts of her soul. Nadia wished desperately to discover more than everything Rio could offer her, yet she knew she would eventually be back.

It is not the same with Aaron. She realizes there will be no strings to pull from when she finds herself thousands of miles away from him. She does not have the strength or the will to learn to trace the stars and find a way back to him.

In fact, Nadia is currently preparing to say goodbye to Aaron forever.

She slides the wooden bird into the right back pocket of her jeans and sits down at her desk to write a letter for Aaron. Although an outdated way of communicating, she feels it is the only way she can get her thoughts across without the shallowness of text messaging. Perhaps it won’t be the last one she writes to him.

***

People have started to progressively leave the living room. Nadia, Celeste, Aaron, Freddy, and Peter are the only ones remaining. The guys stand close to the beer pong table, enclosed by their separate conversation. Nadia and Celeste sit next to each other on the only battered couch in the room and giggle at an inside joke between them. Nadia has had a few drinks and is feeling silly. Come on let me see! She begs Celeste and climbs on top of her, wrapping her arms around her waist. Celeste laughs but refuses to entertain her act, she clutches her phone as Nadia slowly slips onto the floor. Nadia’s back is on the floor, and her laugh reverberates over the music playing from the speaker. Peter raises his eyebrows, and smirks at the spectacle that drunk Nadia is putting on.

“That’s insane,” Peter says while glancing at Aaron and Freddy. “She took two finals today, and walked out of them saying they were too easy. I saw Barbara studying all week to pass the macroeconomics exam she took with Nadia. Just look at her now!”

Aaron laughs to himself. “She’s very smart.”

Freddy approaches the girls and lends out a hand to Nadia, who’s still laughing to herself with her back on the cold floor. She is initially reluctant to take Freddy’s hand, but accepts the help after she realizes she is truly stuck. She heard it all, so she grins to herself and feels silly.

She sits back onto the couch, and Aaron sits next to her. They watch Freddy take Celeste’s hands to pull her to the center of the room. He wraps his arms around her waist, she places her hands on his chest, and they unfurl in a slow dance that does not match the beat of the song blasting through the speakers.

“I don’t know how they’ll manage it… the long distance thing I mean,” Aaron says to Nadia, breaking the silence between them. After all, Freddy is a full time student, and Celeste is preparing to leave the U.S. and go back to France in a few days.

“I’m sure they’ll be fine, they care about each other a lot, and Freddy wants to get his Master’s at Sciences Po anyways.”

“Yes, but, I think he went for her rather late. They have only been together for two weeks… don’t get me wrong they’re cute together, but it all seems complicated.” Nadia pauses for a couple of seconds, unable to figure out what to say. She agrees with Aaron to some extent, but she believes he’s being rather pessimistic about the fate of their friends. Nadia had never tried out a long distance relationship, but she’s seen friends who have, and they seem to have managed it eventually.

Before she is able to say anything, the room is crowded again, and everyone joins in for one last dance of the semester.

***

Towards the end of the night, a bunch of water and chips help Nadia regain her senses. As people start leaving Freddy’s apartment, Nadia and Aaron walk out as well. Aaron follows Nadia to her dorm room, as he always tends to do after nights out.

They’re getting closer to Nadia’s building now, and the goodbyes loom in the air around them. She’s practiced many times in her head, how she will say it. Celeste had encouraged her a couple of days ago, when Nadia revealed her feelings for Aaron to her. Nadia believes truth is unnecessary and hurtful in these kinds of situations. But that has always been her, keeping her cards close in order not to get hurt. Will it be different now? Is there any certainty, that she will not screw things up again?

Unspoken words reverberate in the air. Aaron does not want to say goodbye. Nadia does not want to speak her truth. This is it, a bird has to fly one way or another, to survive.

“I have something for you, it’s from Rio.” Nadia hands him the wooden bird she has been protecting all night. Aaron grins, and a shadow seems to be cast over his face. He realizes time has run out.

“This is awesome, thank you... I’ll see you in Brazil, I promise.”

“You better… See you soon Aaron.” Aaron pulls her into an embrace, until they let go. Aaron turns away from Nadia’s building. His shadow disappears into the darkness from the trees circling the pathway. Words are scratching at her throat, gasping for air. What is a truth left unspoken if not a burden to bear?

Nadia does not go home immediately. She crashes onto the lawn across her building, her body lays flat on a bed of fallen cherry blossoms. Faint stars stare back at her amidst a breezy night of spring. One hand rests on her belly, and the other one holds the letter she wrote to Aaron a few hours back. She is still deciding whether she should slip it under his door before her flight tomorrow, or to keep it safe inside her drawer. She breathes in and out, like Dr. Sanders taught her. A slight shiver runs through her body. It is time to go, yet she refuses to move. A wisp of chilly air wills her to stand on her feet, spatting out the blossoms from her jeans. She kisses the night goodbye to return to her dorm room, across the open lawn.

***

Dear Aaron,

The thing everyone forgets to say about being on stage, aside from the nerves and excitement, is that the lights make such moment feel so ethereal. When a bright light shines on your face, everything else fades away, and yet, the audience simmers into a state of hyper fixation to every move you make, every breath you take into the mic.

Amidst the blurry faces in the crowd, I noticed you and Celeste sitting in the last couple of rows in the audience. I didn’t think I would see you there. It was reassuring, the fact that I wouldn’t sing this solo for the women’s chorale celebration night all by myself. Not with you two there to root for me. Even though we had only known each other for a couple of months, you still decided to show up and see what my performance was all about.

It’s been a while since then, so it would be wise from me to refresh your memory. The women’s chorale club at our university organizes a yearly talent show in April. Of course, most of us decided to sing. Except I chose to sing something in my native language for a change, Chega de Saudade. A classic song I grew up hearing while growing up in Rio. It was the type of song I would hear on the radio on the bus to school in the early morning hours. It was the type of song my mother would hum to herself on a Sunday afternoon while cleaning up the house after a long week. In that very moment, it became the type of song I sang for dozens of people who did not speak Portuguese and would not understand the lyrics. You were one of those people.

When I approached you after the show was done, you said you asked Celeste to translate for you as I was singing. For some reason, the fact that you could discern the meaning of the song made me feel uneasy. Perhaps I felt threatened by the possibility of someone trying to reveal emotions that must have been left untouched in the realm of inarticulateness.

There I was. Singing a breakup song with the pleasurable knowledge that nothing could be read into it by the majority of the audience. Nothing could be digested except for the melody of my voice following the instrumental background on the speakers. There you were, deciphering and digging like a true detective. You deconstructed a song I wanted to keep out of reach to give way to the aestheticism of sound and music.

For a long time, when producing original pieces of music, I grappled with the imminent possibility of someone deconstructing my artistry. I treated my art, especially music, as my hidden treasure; a burden I thought only I got to bear. Eventually, it hit me how badly I had been mistreating my own art. Why was I so afraid to let go of it? Perhaps it was fear of visibility, of bridging the gap between an emotional disconnection with my audience. It became fear of venturing beyond the eventual disappointment of dissonance, as the meaning of my musical artistry becomes misconstrued and shaped into something someone else gets to keep for themselves. I don’t know why Aaron, but for a while I started treating you as an intruder. You were a lunatic obsessed with picking at doors and breaking windows when you didn’t even know where you were breaking into.

After that show, you became my trusting friend who would never miss a chance to see my performances, and unintentionally, got to shape my music into something of your own, or at least that is what I hope happened.

I have mentioned very little about the death of my younger sister right before I met you. Her name was Marina. It’s an odd thing how I have to thank death for helping my art resurface after a period of silence. Losing Marina helped me strive to embrace this visibility of my art, to achieve harmony within a multiplicity of meanings that encapsulate a song or a story. The insurmountable pain of this tragedy eventually gave way to a new person opening up inside me. I slowly regained the passion I fostered for music and creative writing, back when I was a young child listening to Chega de Saudade on my way to school. My musical comeback became a prelude for a new chapter of my life at Georgetown University, past the tragic events that would somehow shape me into the best version of myself. It never occurred to me until now, now that I am leaving, that people not only open themselves up to someone new. Embracing this new self also means closing a part of oneself down which should dissipate into nothingness. I am afraid this is the opportunity cost of change, and given the amount of life, music, and vivid memories I have made here—all these beautiful things I got to share with you—I feel an immense part of me closing in, ready to give way to the song’s last lines.

While I was singing Chega de Saudade in that auditorium, it never occurred to me that my performance was the beginning of a new person inside of me, while it was also the end of yours and Celeste’s current selves as students at Georgetown University. It never occurred to me that the multiplicity of meanings one can give to a performance is not a selfish disruption of a performer’s most valuable possession. It is a sign that the art has done its job; it is done, and after the words are sung and the piano dissipates in a decrescendo, then this art stops being mine. There has not been a lesson I have learned from this place that is more valuable than letting go, and it is in the deconstruction of art, music, and literature that one can access what it is, which they have been seeking all along. Within the multiplicity of meaning, we encounter the person we’re trying to transform into or let go of.

I left the stage and walked into the backstage rooms with all the other members of the women’s chorale. They talked about how well I had done and how beautiful that rendition was. All I wanted to do was ask if they got it. Was that the kind of art they had been looking for all along?

What I am trying to say Aaron, is that I will miss you a lot. I know we probably won't get to meet in the future, but I want you to know that you have saved me.



I’m sure you got it Aaron, you always get me.