I can still feel the woman’s hand gripped tight to my wrist as I hurry my pace, completely creeped out by what just happened. Maybe I should’ve just minded my business and walked past the woman like I’ve been doing all week. What made me think it was any of my business to buy her a coffee? I know I can be naïve sometimes, but I didn’t really think she’d say much more than maybe a quick thank-you. I certainly didn’t expect her to tell me to come see her the next time I’m in Iceland.

Well, that’s not going to happen, I think to myself as I throw a quick glance over my shoulder. I’m several blocks away by now, and while I don’t see her behind me, I keep feeling like the woman is following me. Coming to Iceland was a knee-jerk reaction to my breakup with Gavin, and I have no plans to come back, at least not anytime soon.

Once I’m on the bus to the airport, the uneasiness I felt in the woman’s presence finally begins to fade, and I feel like I can breathe again. I don’t know why I let her upset me so much, and now that I know she’s gone, I’m wondering if I might have overreacted. But it was a weird thing for her to say to a person who was just trying to be nice. I try to shake off the interaction, telling myself that I’ll be back in San Francisco soon enough, and this spur-of-the-moment trip will be nothing but a distant memory. I’m glad I got outside my comfort zone and took the trip, but I’m ready to go home now.

With a deep breath, I settle back in my seat and turn to look out the window at the snow-peaked mountains. The view around me is a combination of stark and clean, so different from other places I’ve traveled. I really am happy I got to see Iceland, or at least a small part of it, even if I might have made some questionable decisions along the way.

The sun is already starting to slip lower in the sky, and I know that it’s going to be dark in an hour or so. It caught me off guard all week how little daylight there is here. I can’t imagine what it must be like to live here when the nights grow longer and longer until they consume most of the day. I would think people would find it depressing, though I haven’t heard anyone complain. I suppose if you grow up here, you get used to it.

As the bus heads toward the airport, the urban skyline gives way to the countryside, and I watch the sidewalk shift to more and more grass and then long swatches of overgrown fields. Along the road, I spot huge stones and find myself wondering how they got there. It’s almost as if they were dropped randomly from the sky. This thought causes me to look up, and, above the bus, I see a jet contrail in the fading sky.

My thoughts turn to my own impending flight, and immediately my palms start to sweat. I’ve always been terrified of flying, which only proves how badly I needed to get away when I decided to take this trip by myself. At least on the way here, I could look forward to being in a new place and think about everything I wanted to do and see. Now, I have nothing to distract me except the thought of the plane dropping out of the sky, like one of those giant stones in the fields.

Fear creeps inside of me little by little so that by the time I’m boarding the plane and making my way down the aisle to my seat, I’m cursing ever coming to Iceland in the first place. What the hell was I thinking? How am I going to be able to keep it together for the twelve-hour flight? I still have no idea how I made it here in the first place, except that I had a lot of wine at the airport back in San Francisco.

I grip the armrests the moment the plane starts to move, squeezing my eyes shut tight. I’m caught off guard by another memory of my one-night stand and the intensity of his eyes. I shake my head, wondering once again what the hell I was thinking. It’s going to be a long flight home, so as soon as the flight attendant comes by with the drink cart, I order a cocktail.

***

Stacking my second empty cup on top of my first, I peer down the aisle, looking for the flight attendant. I’m feeling a little better with the slight buzz I’ve accomplished by drinking fast, and I’d like to order a third drink to keep it going. I check to see if he’s behind me and spot him in the galley, talking to another passenger.

“You might want to take it easy with those,” the woman next to me says.

I turn back around in my seat and see that she’s pointing to my empty cups.

“The alcohol will affect you more in the higher altitude, and there’s still a ways to go before we get to California.”

“Yeah, that’s the point,” I reply.

While I wasn’t trying to be funny, the woman laughs as if I were making a joke.

“Should I assume that Iceland wasn’t what you had hoped it would be?” she asks.

“Well, I wasn’t really hoping for much,” I admit. “I’m just afraid of flying, and this is my first international flight. Well, technically, it’s my first round-trip international flight.”

“Oh, I see,” the woman says, nodding knowingly. “I used to hate flying, too, but I love to travel, which makes it a necessary evil. And hey, you made it to Iceland in one piece. You’ll probably make it back to California in one piece, too.”

“Tell that to my nerves. For someone who hates flying, you don’t seem that nervous,” I point out.

“Eventually I grew out of my fear,” she replies. “Now I actually enjoy it. It gives me a chance to spend some quiet time without the distractions of day-to-day life.”

“I can see how that would be appealing,” I say with a nod, “if I weren’t thinking about the likelihood this plane ends up at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean.”

The woman laughs again and then asks if I live in the San Francisco area. I tell her I do, and we get into my job as a graphic designer. She seems interested in hearing about it, asking me questions about work and my trip until eventually I let it slip that I’m going through a bit of an identity crisis after my breakup.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “How long were you together?”

“Three years,” I say with a sigh.

“Well, I know a bit about what you’re going through,” she tells me. “I just went through a divorce myself.”

“Oh, now I’m sorry for complaining,” I tell her. “Divorce must be so much worse than a breakup. And besides, I think I might have made my situation seem a bit more dramatic than it is. Things are actually going well otherwise. I’m about to land this big account at work, and I have a great circle of friends who are always there for me. I’m sure I’ll be back on my feet soon enough.”

“I don’t mean to be nosey, but given that we still have many hours to kill, do you mind me asking what happened with your ex?” the woman asks.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be so open with a complete stranger—certainly not about my love life—but either because of the drinks I’ve had or because it’s helping to keep my mind off of flying—and crashing—I go ahead and tell the woman all about Gavin and why we broke up.

“I realized that he had my whole future mapped out for me,” I explain. “Everything we’ve ever done has always been dictated by his plans, his dreams. Looking at our relationship now, I’ve come to realize that Gavin’s support has always been conditional. He thinks he means well, and in his own special way, maybe he does, but eventually it just became stifling.”

“Then you should use this time to focus on yourself,” the woman says. “Do whatever you want, become whoever you are supposed to be.”

“Who am I supposed to be?” I wonder aloud.

The woman shrugs and offers me a kind smile.

“You’ll discover that when you least expect it.”

***

When I can’t hold my very full bladder any longer, I reluctantly stand up and cautiously make my way to the front of the plane to use the bathroom. As I walk, I hold the headrest of each seat to steady myself. The plane sways side to side, making my stomach lurch. I’m about to head back and try to hold it a little longer when I feel a chill over my whole body. I lift my eyes and realize that it’s snowing as the thick flakes land on my cheeks, melting against my warm skin. Before I can question how it’s snowing inside the plane, it starts to come down even harder, rapidly turning into a blinding blizzard.

How is this possible? I think to myself, but the thought is interrupted by a piercing scream.

I whip around to look back the way I just came and find that the plane is gone, replaced by a long pathway, at the end of which is a figure, completely engulfed in flames and bound to a large wooden stake, screaming in total agony. I put my hands over my ears and stumble backward in shock.

What the hell is happening?

The ground beneath me shakes violently, and just when I start to fall, I’m jarred awake as the plane hits the runway. I look around wildly, my heart pounding even as I realize it was just a dream. I force myself to take a few breaths as a woman a few rows behind me consoles her screaming baby.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” the woman next to me asks.

“What?”

“The flight,” she says. “You slept through the last couple of hours.”

“Oh, right,” I reply, still feeling disoriented.

“It was nice talking to you,” she says. “I hope that you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I say. “It was nice meeting you, too.”

The plane taxies to our gate, and as soon as the pilot turns off the seat-belt sign, everyone hurries into the aisle to collect their bags from the overhead compartments. I follow after them, taking my carry-on down and exiting the plane, though I’m still shaken by the dream. It felt so real that I can’t help touching my face as if expecting to find it cold and wet with snow. The baby is still crying, echoing the agony of the person burning and screaming in my dream. I take a few breaths, thinking that the woman next to me was probably right. I should have been more careful about how much I drank.

I’m a little groggy as I head toward baggage claim, but I’m determined to not let the nightmare derail me. Despite my fear of flying, and the embarrassment of my one-night stand, I actually enjoyed my trip a lot. Even last night wasn’t all bad. In fact, it was some pretty amazing sex—maybe the best I’ve had in a long time. I just need some sleep, to nail this account at work, and then sit back and see how my future will unfold.

As I’m walking briskly through the airport, I suddenly hear someone calling my name. I slow my pace, thinking I’m imagining it as I look around, and then I see Gavin, grinning and holding up a sign with my name on it.

“Welcome back, baby!”