Goodbye Alaska

The mountains were indeed breathtaking. They appeared to be a continuation of the landscape rather than their own separate formations. They seemed to be reaching for something, stretching out their sharp jagged peaks attempting to grasp at whatever it was they had their eyes on. They were never ending on this stretch of the highway. They lined the road perfectly.

They also reminded Jessi of walls in a cage. Keeping her here. The grandeur being more intimidating than welcoming. Displaying power and authority over any living creature that called this place home.

This would be the last time she saw them, Jessi thought as she walked along the highway back to her car parked at a pull-off. The dirt and weeds poking up through the cracks of the pale grey concrete. It must have been decades since they re-paved this road. Perhaps when she was five and the state decided to widen the highway. Too many cars and families encountering ice, flimsy guard rails, and avalanches careening down the mountain onto the highway. The snow never left the mountain tops, even in the summer.

The paved road looked much smaller to her now. Especially after her visit to her cousin in Los Angeles, where freeways ruled the transportation system. Winding around each other like ribbons, trying not to get tangled up. These roads looked like a singular ribbon, drawing themselves in between the mountains and the inlet on the other side of the highway.

Jessi needed space. Not outdoor space, here, there was plenty of it. You could run for miles without seeing another person sometimes. She needed space away from this place. Something a lot of people didn’t understand. After all, if you needed a place to reset in nature, this was where you would go, Alaska.

Jessi had pulled doubles at the local coffee shop in her hometown to scrimp and save enough money to buy a one-way ticket. When she finally got enough, she booked a plane heading to Seattle without telling her parents. She wanted to uproot her claim to this place. She wanted to be gone.

If you only kept your eyes on the beauty, you would see the wide river that ran through the center of town, allowing many to catch their nightly dinner. Cute shops and newly minted breweries popping up everywhere against the backdrop of heavily wooded forests made Jessi’s hometown postcard-perfect. But if you focused your vision, you would notice the ugliness it attempted to brush under the rug.

Or rather, the people they tried to brush under the rug. There was an unofficial campsite in the forests, hidden in plain sight in the center of town. Homemade tents built from blue tarps and held up by branches bore holes and wear from the harsh winters that overstayed their welcomes.

Occasionally, the people who lived there would emerge. Holding signs begging for money or food and giving rise to unwarranted anger. They would be ignored, mocked, and scorned by other locals.

Whenever they came into the coffee shop, Jessi would offer them free cups of old coffee and pastries she was about to throw out. When the summers would abruptly end and turn aggressively into winter, she let them stay after hours while she was cleaning up.

Doing this put Jessi at the center of town gossip. She received lectures on her enabling behaviors and condescending laughs from her family and friends.

However, she felt they had no reason to patronize. Her friends and family members dropped out of school starting in the 8th grade. There was no reason for dream building if you were going to end up working at the local fast food joint anyway. Add that to inadequate schooling, lack of jobs, and overly priced necessities, and the number of purposeless people grew by the day. People didn’t seem particularly fond of making things better in this town.

To anyone on the outside looking in, her hometown had become a boasting ground. People would come from Colorado, Utah, or Wisconsin to stake their claim. However, they would quickly realize the difficulty of making a life in a place with sunless winters and leave. Alaska seemed to be something to conquer. Not something to build up.

Jessi couldn’t help but think she was one of these people, always looking for her exit. Not committed to staying. But a part of her didn’t care, and that part grew bigger with each passing year she stayed looking for direction. I’m leaving and not coming back, Jessi thought, no matter what I do, I will force myself to stay away.

To Jessi, Alaska was a prison of the soul. The depression she experienced every day, even when the days were warmer and the sun stayed out to play well past 10 p.m., was enough to keep her dreaming of somewhere else. Anywhere else.

She tried to make it work. After all, where would she go? What would she do? But after a terrible breakup where her ex cheated on her with an eighteen-year-old at the local high school, Jessi decided she was done. She didn’t want to live through the gossip and pitying stares. This town was too small to exist in. Even the tourists knew her dirt from the local talebearers.

Getting back into her Volkswagen classic, Jessi shut the door. The windows rattled like they might fall out or shatter at any time. It used to be her sister's car until she up and left with a guy named Jimmy to Girdwood. A small town that hosted the nearest ski resort and blueberry festival. She now worked at the lodge of the ski resort and barely called.

Jimmy was sketchy. He couldn’t hold down a job and bounced around from town to town. He met her sister fishing one evening in the summer at the mouth of the Kenai River. He lived in a worn-down trailer home just off the rocky beach. Her sister went home with him that night after a few laughs and a couple of beers. They moved to Girdwood three months later after Jimmy got fired from the new corporate convenience store, which was built on the spot that used to host the local bookshop. It may have seemed fast, but Jessi couldn’t help to wonder if maybe Jimmy was her sister’s escape. A quick way out without having to save up money for a ticket.

She hadn’t talked to her sister much since she moved to Girdwood. There were occasional texts and inquiries about how each other was doing, but they were always surface-level. Eventually, they stopped talking, and any attempt to contact her sister was met with sporadic responses.

But Jessi received an immediate response when she contacted her a week ago, letting her know about her plans to leave and asking if she would take the car off her hands. Girdwood was only about a forty-five-minute drive from the Anchorage airport. Her sister would meet her there and take the keys.

Driving along the highway, Jessi passes the old snow train that sits at a rest stop. She loved that place growing up. She would run along the wooden walkways, elevated above the water and golden grass that moved wildly with the slightest touch of wind.

She began to hear planes above her. She looked up and saw a charter plane overhead. She had toyed with the idea of saving up a bit more to take one. The small twin-engine aircrafts where the pilot literally turned around in his seat to tell you they were taking off and landing, and perhaps ask what your family was up to because he knew them. This would be one small thing Jessi would miss about this place. However, the eagerness of being able to finally leave overtook her.

Jessi parks the car on the top level of the parking garage and looks up to see her sister walking towards her. She sees Jimmy in the passenger seat of her sister’s 2005 Subaru, drinking from a stained coffee cup. His unkempt hair covered his scruff. Opening the creaky car door, Jessi’s booted foot hits the crumbly pavement. She takes a deep breath. The air smells of pine and crispness.

“Hey you,” Jessi’s sister welcomes.

“Can I help you with your bags?” She offers.

“Bag,” Jessi corrects, “and no, thank you, I got it.”

“You are only bringing one?” She gives Jessi a wide-eyed stare of disbelief.

“How many did you bring when you moved to Girdwood with Jimmy?” Jessi smirks, reminding her that her sister only brought a small backpack when she moved out.

“Point taken.”

Handing her sister the keys, she looks for the elevator and the time. “I should be heading in; they will probably board in about 45 minutes.”

“Text me anytime, ok? If you need a place to come back to, I’m sure I could get you a position at the lodge. They are always looking for people.” Her sister offers.

“Thanks,” Jessi offers a small smile of reassurance, but doesn’t mention her plans to avoid Alaska forever, hopefully dying outside of it.

She embraces her sister for the last time, holding on tightly and pushing down tears. Jessi walks into the airport. The shiny tile floor is speckled with different shades of brown and green to hide mud marks left by Alaskans, either coming or going.

She steps onto the plane, the stifled and stale air on the 747 permeates Jessi’s lungs. She quickly finds her seat next to the window towards the middle, right before the wing of the plane. She closes her eyes and lets the motion of taking off fill her stomach.

Finally in the air, she lets out a sigh of relief. She opens her eyes and looks out the window. The lights of the city disappear quickly, and they are engulfed by the surrounding peaks and endless blue-green water that shimmers from the setting sun. No matter what distance in the air they are in, the mountains continue to reach for her. Saying their goodbyes and begging her not to leave.