The squealing from the engines firing up never put me in a good mood and this time was no different. Like a dentist revving up his little drill before wreaking havoc on my teeth that are usually improperly injected with Novocaine, the engines came to life; I closed my eyes and cringed. As the plane reached higher elevations my ears plugged like everyone else’s, but for some reason mine never unplug or readjust like everyone else’s supposedly do. I knew I was going to spend the whole god damn plane ride chewing pieces of gum and swallowing gulps of air with no positive results. When I was a kid I would get so stressed out and anxious over the pressure building up in my ears for a three hour flight that I would cry and eventually get a headache from working myself up.

The flight from Buffalo to JFK was short, so I would only have to worry about the pressure on my eardrums for an hour. It only took one glance over at her to remember what was really going on. She had the look on her face like she felt obligated to say something or comfort me in some way. It was just aggravating me more. I began to somewhat understand why she got mad when I had nothing to say whenever she was upset. I say “somewhat understand” because she was always upset and I always ran out of things to say to her. That’s why I was always quiet. I am never upset; this was a much bigger issue. I think I just saw her wipe a tear from her face. Oh my god, I can’t stand to look at her. I’m not sure what I am even doing on this flight.

It took a while for my mother to put me back together and force me on this plane. This was supposed to be my getaway with my girlfriend. We were going to Manhattan to visit her sister who had been living there for a couple months. My mom forced me on the plane figuring it would be better to still get away for the week, rather than sit and sulk until the probable funeral arrangements on Monday.

The funeral. It was the kind of thing that happens and makes you believe in God or at least forces you to hope that there is one. When she died I could not believe it. I had just seen her the night before. She hugged me, we wished each other a safe trip, and said I love you. It was not a lover’s love. It was something that would have lasted a lot longer at our ripe age of 21. It was the genuine love someone had for a close friend and I lost it that morning. I couldn’t talk. I could only cry.

That’s what led me to start talking to God. It is funny how you can spend most of your life thinking you do not believe in God, yet during desperate times you crawl back to her without a single hesitation. I say it’s a “her” because I can’t think of many men in life who exemplify the selfless characteristics that a god supposedly encompasses. Or maybe it is just because I’m a mama’s boy. Either way, if I did not believe in her, the situation would be a lot more fucked up. I would have lost a friend and had no hope that I would ever see her again. She was a great girl. I need to believe that she was taken some place after she passed.

I spent thirteen years of my life in Catholic schools and all thirteen years not believing in God. It did nothing but push me away from that religion and any idea of another. You can imagine how odd it felt to sub-consciously call upon this being when I needed somebody the most. At first it felt weird to talk to God, but I figured my ears are plugged, my girlfriend has nothing good to say, so what did I really have to lose? It doesn’t hurt to hope.

There is a lot of irony in this situation, God. Here I am on a Friday, mourning over the loss of one of my closest friends. You lost your son on a Friday as well. But your loss was planned. You knew you were going to sacrifice your son. On Sunday he rose again and came back to you. Why couldn’t you give me the heads up? When we hugged I could have just held on a little longer and a lot tighter. I wish I could be half as lucky as you. I will be returning on Sunday, and she won’t. Or God, maybe you would be so nice as to make sure there is an open casket when her wake rolls around. It would be one last chance for me to see her and maybe say goodbye for good this time. Only you won’t be able to do her justice. I can only picture her face smiling. Any other expression would not do it for me. I don’t mean to be mad, God. Maybe it is because I’m a couple miles up in the air and I feel close enough to talk to you like that.

My ears finally just popped back to normal as we started making our final descent into JFK. I could finally hear now, thank God, and could talk to someone else beside myself. As I glanced around, I realized that I apparently missed the stewardess passing around beverages. I could have used a gin and juice.

Weird. The flight seemed short.