After a week of emotional survival, I boarded a jet bound for California. With all my expenses paid, I was to spend several weeks at the Santa Monica home of my aunt and uncle. Never having flown, I was excited when the journey commenced and the jet tore a path into the hazy summer sky. I found flying to be a delightful affair, especially during the circulation of complimentary pop and peanuts. Silvery mounds of cloud formations glistened against the sun's blinding light. Across the blanket of white, another jet raced toward a secret destination. Corn and wheat fields made a quilted pattern of the landscape. Rectangular fields slowly gave in to circular ones as the jet scorched westward; irrigation. The Rocky Mountains pierced a jagged line through low-flying clouds that skirted each side of the airliner, and the fertile land disappeared where the soaring mountains grew from the earth. The jet flew past that which nature took centuries to create as if it was insignificant and worth little more than a fleeting glimpse. The mountains were now behind us. As I peered out of the tiny window, the land became increasingly arid and fewer roads disrupted the sea of creeping grass and sage brush. As we began our descent, I felt my ears clog in rebellion to the slight change in air pressure. Swallowing and trying to induce yawns, I cleared my ears continuously until the jet was hanging lazily above city streets and buildings. Not until the aircraft touched down on the runway was I aware of the speed at which the jet was moving; the grass was at first a green blur against outstretched silver wings, and we rushed on as if powered by an unstoppable force. Then I perceived that the forward thrust was steadily reined until the huge jet slowly strolled along the landing strip and taxied toward the Los Angeles terminal. Within the passage of hours I had been transported across 2000 miles; it certainly did not take a long time to leave a place. Memories and heartaches, however, came along for the ride. This was my vacation, and I tried to avoid thinking about that which had transpired the week earlier. While my aunt and uncle showed me the sights in their part of California, my parents decided to take a vacation of their own. They, too learned that miles did not alleviate worry. Worry cannot be left at home. It is weightless baggage that one is obliged to carry. After several days of eventful tours, relaxing on my aunt's patio swing, and tempting their aged and extremely bored cat into playing with a ball of yarn, I received a phone call from my mom. They had returned from their small trip and found a note from Norm saying that he and Tracy were married. I was ecstatic. My fears had never materialized.