Boarding the plane, I felt my heart race in my chest. The sweat in my palms was building like a waterfall, and I just wanted to rub it on my jeans. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Finding my seat wasn’t hard, mostly because I could just walk right to it with the assistance of a flight attendant, because I’d never been on a plane- ever, not once. I couldn’t stop myself from shaking. There was danger in the sky, but I had to suck it up and be a man. I was nineteen, for God’s sake! I could handle a flight. I shut my phone off and started to close my eyes, trying to catch some sleep so that I wasn’t tires and ready to pass out when I got to Spain. It would be fun; that’s what I told myself. I wasn’t going to die or anything like that, nothing close to that. If anything, I would just sleep off the hours I had to spend… A mystery world of tall buildings filled my mind, and before I was opening my eyes to see that I was thousands of feet in the air- next to the window seat! I jumped a bit, hand rested against my pounding heart. Biting my lip, I dared to look out, as if we were closer than what I had first saw. I shouldn’t have looked. The fear spilled into my being, and I jerked back and started to breathe deeply, hands clasped tightly together in my lap, as if that would save me if we went down. A hand was resting on my shoulder then, grasping. I looked fast. A young flight attendant was looking to me worriedly, and I simply stared back at her, mind running as if I had just been given a new subject to learn. She walked away after we exchanged a few words. She was gone. I fell back into sleep after reading for a bit, putting my book back into my carry-on. Things were so strange. The year before this flight, I had graduated high school. It was insane to think that my community had helped me pay for this trip, mostly because I had spent so much time studying Spanish. It had been the only thing that I knew well. I had dreamed in Spanish before, everyone speaking as if they were fluent, though I knew that my mother certainly was not bilingual. She could barely speak correct English. We arrived in Spain some hours later, legs a bit numb and sore from sitting on the plane for so long. Pins and Needles. Pins and Needles. Pins and Needles. I practically ran through the airport, simply because I figured that I could outrun my pain. Maybe not. Collecting my things, I went outside and called the number my mother had set to my speed dial. A young man answered and we exchanged a few words in Spanish, a small smile coming to my face as we spoke. He sounded so sweet about everything. Every word was like honey, though one phrase confused me and he explained it to me briefly. I sat at the airport for about two hours, wandering with my heavy-ass suitcase and camera, the strap wrapped about my neck. I took pictures of everything, and I mean everything. The people that walked by got snapshots. My face got framed in on a digital screen. My first soda in Spain got its own picture on the camera. Boredom was quickly filling my inner soul, because I had nothing to do until the man came to get me. By the end of the second hour, I was pacing outside and kicking stones back into the street. It was so strange to feel at such a loss. I had nothing else to do. I saw a little red car pull up, someone looking around out of the window. It certainly took me by surprise when the window came down and a young man, about my age, popped his head out and started speaking fast in Spanish. At first, I just froze, and he started laughing, a cute, little smile rising to his face. I just stared at him because I had nothing to say. “Hola. ¿Comó estás?” Was he actually speaking… basic Spanish? I swallowed and started speaking easily, the words seeming to flow after staring at him for a moment in confusion. Maybe I had just gotten distracted; it was too easy to see that this man was attractive, his dark brown eyes staring at my own gentle blue ones. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at him, because he was so… Joshua? Did an American name come form his lips? I sort of felt myself gasp before introducing myself- Stephen Jazer… It sounded so lame compared to Joshua Meza. So… He told me to get in the car with bright eyes and a happy smile. I sort of hesitated and he told me who his grandmother was: Monica Meza. I should have known. She was my host… kind of. I set my bags in the backseat before getting in the front seat, glancing over occasionally as the boy spoke fluently about his finally “having company.” It sort of made me laugh. I always seemed to have people around… always. It seemed that I never had alone time. We drove through the city for almost a half hour before escaping the buildings and entering a world of trees and green. It was something that I had never really experienced, mostly because I was from a large city that didn’t have many trees, not like this. Joshua continued to blather on and on and on until we were pulling up into a driveway and he explained that this was his house. I stared. Everything seemed so large. The house had to have been at least three stories, and the fields of green seemed to come up to meet us. Upon getting out, I noticed a creek that ran alongside the yard and a pond a little ways away. It was rather impressive. I cracked a joke about the way the things were so green compared to the city I was from, and it seemed to work in my favor, because the tanned boy gave another little, adorable laugh. Unpacking had been a little challenging, mostly because I had put everything that I had needed first at the bottom of my suitcases. That had stressed me out. I was starting to feel sick from being on the plane for so long.