Fear of Flying
I flew to Philly to meet his parents,
to be with him, to see the city and watch him smile.
I met him in the airport wearing my new dress
and black knee high boots. It was my winter break…
and it was seriously winter in Philly.
Snow every day.
Floridians aren’t accustomed to snow
and no Christmas tree left a weird chill in my bones
and an ache for home.
We ate bagels in the morning and had sex
in the afternoons, when his father was at work. Unlucky
for us, his step mom was always lurking somewhere
in their two-story house.
I missed how he played guitar for me back home, typically
something by Led Zeppelin, The Beatles or Paul Simon.
We took the subway to NYC, my first time for both.
I fell in love…with the lights, the fast pace,
the energy, NYC and Jewish delis.
He took me to Vassar, where he graduated with a degree
in Philosophy. I met his friends, got drunk, puked.
We skied in the Poconos, my first time on skis. I sucked.
Ice did not agree with my feet. My balance wasn’t right,
on the ice or with him. His father was stern. He didn’t like me.
His step mom heard us banging and my non-Jewish
moaning didn’t win her approval. Awkward. I didn’t like her,
but I adored his mom. She gave me “Fear of Flying,” by Erica Jong,
and that has stayed with me all these many years later.
© Melody Lee / September 2018