New Life

The sun was setting over the great plains of middle America- the fanatical oranges and yellows that echoed and reflected off the clouds below made it hard for me to marvel for too long.
I rolled down the shade of the small window, contemplating the time it would take for nighttime to finally fall so I could catch some sleep. Most of my fellow travelers has already resolved to make the best of the economy class seating, and had closed their eyes, slowed their breaths; a few had succeeded, and were snoring happily. The rest were desperate for nightfall, when, under the cover of darkness, they could feel alone with their thoughts.
I looked at my watch: ten p.m., Eastern Time. That would make it about seven here, I surmised. I wasn't sure of the exact time difference between Vermont and...Whichever western state I was flying over at that moment, but I remembered Angie telling me it was a three hour time jump from the east to the west. She told me that right before I left.
"Don't forget me." she had said; her last words to me.
"I won't." I had replied, but already, I could feel her face, her voice fading from my memories. It's just as well, I thought, I'm never going back anyway. There's nothing there for me.
That's why I had decided to start a new life, in Arizona, where the dry heat could soothe my soul and give me inspiration when the muggy seasons of Vermont couldn't. When the cold of fall and winter came, my poetry suffered, my column crumbled, my novel went unfinished with an increase of rainy-day depressions. But then, when the warmth returned, along with my willingness to pick up a pen, it was too late; the paper had given my position to a youth whose writing fed on his angst, my prose went un-received, and the local publisher postponed my book indefinitely, choosing instead to release a World War I historical fiction by some veteran with Alzheimer’s. My life went to shambles.
So, I resolved to move west, where I had heard the sun never fled. I packed up my good button-down shirts, jeans, and socks, and bought a one-way ticket to the warmest state I could think of: Arizona, where I had heard a guy had actually fried just by laying on the sidewalk. Perfect.
I called my parents to tell them I was leaving, and true to their generic indifference, just said "take care, James." It seemed that the only one who even cared I was leaving was Angie, the town angel. Her bouncing blonde curls enveloped my head as she hugged me for an hour, begged me not to go, confessed the love for me that she thought I didn't know about and that I didn't return. I pressed into her lightly, feeling sorry, but knowing I was too selfish to bring myself to stay just for her. And then I left, Angie still waving through the airport window as the giant 747 taxied onto the runway.
As I pulled myself away from my memories, I checked my watch again. Ten thirty sharp. I opened the shade and was greeted by a palette of blues and purples guarding the visible stars; a shimmer of exhaustion ran up my back. I reclined the seat back into another passenger's lap, and sent myself away to dreamland for the two hours it would take to reach the Sky Harbor airport in Phoenix. Two hours before my life would begin anew. As I drifted off, I saw Angie's face for the last time in my mind, shining tears on her cheeks. Goodnight, Angel, I thought. Take care. 1