Gravity By Robert M. Drake

Gravity By Robert M. Drake

Prologue: I don’t know how to start this and I don’t know how it began, but I did remember a lot of things. Like the first time I rode a bike, the first time I swam in the ocean, and the first time I looked into his eyes. I remembered a lot of things. Like the way I used to laugh when I was a little girl, the light in my father’s eyes when he would lift me into the air, and the way those lazy summer days would slowly pass me by. Yeah, I remembered a lot of things, but what I remembered the most was the pain I couldn’t leave behind, and it hurt. It always hurt.

I was in Atlanta, Georgia, aboard an American Airlines Boeing headed toward San Francisco, waiting for the plane to take off. I had been among the first to set foot on the plane, so I knew takeoff would take another hour or so. I was going to visit an old friend during the holidays. I did this yearly; it had become a little ritual of mine. It was early in the morning, and I hadn’t gotten enough rest the night before.