Here’s a little story I wrote about a year ago. I was on-board a Jetstar flight from Melbourne to Brisbane (hence the title), in search of warmer climes. And, having a pen but no paper handy, chose to write the story on the airsickness bag located in my seat pocket. The single line of instruction written on the bag was the inspiration.

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If affected by motion sickness please use this bag.

It was a simple enough instruction, though perhaps it could of done with a little more information. The truth was, he was bored and frustrated. The bag, and the instructions (or lack thereof) written on the bag were just an outlet for that frustration.

It was all his fault. The fight, the moments of fear and doubt that came immediately after the fight, everything. Somewhat ironically, he did feel sick. Not sick in the way the bag was designed to help him deal with right now, but not far off. It was emotion sickness, not motion sickness.

He had regrets. He had many, many regrets. Why did he have to behave the way he did? What was it that he was hoping to achieve? If only he was able to trust her. But he didn’t. Or, more accurately, he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. And that was on him. He was the one at fault, and now she was gone.

She didn’t want to go. He realised that now. But everything he did, everything he said in his desperate attempt to keep her close to him, well all it did was driver her further away, emotionally as well as physically. Now she was gone and he didn’t know what to do.

He should have trusted her, he should of followed her. She have him every chance. She didn’t want to fight, she didn’t really know how. The thing was, he didn’t think she knew that she could run away either.

He wondered if it was the loneliness that was making him feel sick? Or perhaps it was because he hadn’t been able to eat since she has left? He was just so used to her being by his side. He wondered what she was doing at this very moment? Where had she gone? Who was she with? Was she with someone else? Was she with more than one person? She loved attention, he knew that much. Maybe she would come back to him, after she’d had a bit of fun, after she got bored? Surely she couldn’t just forget him, after all they had been through together? Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he feared? Maybe he was remembering the fight as much worse than it actually was? There was yelling, all him, but she had just looked at him with those sad eyes. Those same eyes that would follow him around the room, as though he were her whole world.

Yeah, he definitely felt sick, but the bag wasn’t going to help him. Not right now. The only thing that would help him, was her. He needed her back, needed her to need him again. He needed her to jump up onto his bed when she could sense he needed comforting. He needed her to follow him around like a shadow, wherever he was going, even if he wasn’t really going anywhere. He needed her to need her belly rubbing, because as much as she enjoyed it, she knew that he enjoyed it almost as much.

The sickness he felt right now was a sickness he would wish on no one. Not even his worst enemy. If (when?) she came back he promised he would never yell at her again. She didn’t deserve that. She deserved all the love in the world.

Man’s best friend wasn’t just a saying, it was the truth.