Sinclair Daly

I first sensed the strange numb feeling as we departed the dusty plains aboard Delta Airlines flight 706 - Jackson, Wyoming to San Francisco, California. The year was 1992. I was 18 years old. Summer had just begun and the ink on my high school diploma was only 8 days dry. I'd made an urgent and very necessary decision earlier that morning in favor of a major change of scenery. I swore to myself whole-heartedly that once I left Wyoming it would not be graced by my presence for a long, long while.Earlier at home, fresh and clean from a hot shower, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror staring through a fog of steam. I felt light-headed and dizzy, as though my skull was empty. My thoughts were blank and insubstantial. I wiped down the glass with my hand to reveal a shocking, appalling sight. The face that reflected back at me seemed somewhat familiar but not quite me. All the facial features seemed in tact: a wide, smooth nose; proportioned ears; full lips; short, bushy, brown hair; a serious brow; pronounce cheek bones; a wide, smooth jaw line; but in the eyes... the expression was hollow. The eyes seemed dead, as if there was nothing there. I pinched at my cheeks widening the eyes only to see more clearly the frightening black, empty void within. What was it? Something was missing. Did I need something new?My mind was compelled abruptly to resolve this problem (whatever it was). I found myself in a panic and ferociously focused. The next thing I knew I was stuffing toiletries and clothes into my gym bag intent on an immediate exodus. I loaded up the bag with my tooth brush, Aqua Fresh, a handful of Schick twin blade disposable razors, Q-tips, Protein Ice hair gel, Right Guard antiperspirant, gym socks, boxer shorts, a white collared shirt, 3 Martin Wong neck ties, my favorite pair of blue jeans, and a stack of magazines (YM, Cosmopolitan and Playboy).After a haphazard, rushed dressing and primping I hurried my way through my parent's home, vacating it out the front door. Squealing the tires of my black, 1965 Chevy Malibu around each street corner en route to the Bank Of America, I avoided looking into the rearview and even side mirrors for fear of what I might see in them. Once at the bank, I emptied the cash out of my savings account (about $19,000.00). As I shifted gears, speeding and slowing and weaving through traffic the panic of what was happening inside of me reached frenzy. I sped toward the airport like a bat outta hell. I shrieked the old Chevy's tires to a halt in a long term parking lot and snatched up my belongings. At a three-quarter pace I ran to the ticket counter and saw the flight post for Delta Airlines flight 706 "now boarding." I bought a ticket and with several pushes, gallops and rude zips I finally boarded the plane for my impromptu, grand exit.Peering from my window seat, I eyed meadowlarks beside and bison below as we soared past the home and life that had once been the source of my every pride and worth. Now, I was looking down at it. Gravity pulled me gently into my seat and relief set in, relaxing the back of my neck. I let me eyes rest closed in pace with the plane's upward velocity. At the moment that my eyes finally closed, an icy chill pinged the inside of my throat forcing it to synch up. My body shuttered as the cold sensation slithered down into my gut like a 64 ounce convinience store slushy. An exhilarating twinge in my neck and shiver from arm to arm followed by goose bumps confirmed that my decision to leave was the correct decision. That shuttering sensation of bliss was a feeling that I would come to know like a brother and trust it like a friend. From that day forward I referred to that frigid feeling as the "strange numb."I was finally out of the dust bowl. California, I concluded, was to be my fertile crescent. There I sat pensively gazing out of the window through thin, pillowy clouds and down to distant cities full of what looked like tiny, model buildings that I could crush with a pinch between my fingers... my mind was racing. I would grow myself up in the fast paced, ever-changing world of the big city. I knew San Francisco was a beautiful place from post cards and television. It's international landmark status made it a worthy place to call home. The convenient distance from Cheyenne (about 700 miles) made San Francisco a choice well within my scope reason and just slightly within my fear threshold.©