Chance Encounters
An eight-p.m. flight to Canada seemed like a great idea. There wouldn't be that many people going, so less traffic on the plane. Everyone would be too drugged up with thoughts of sleep to be loud or cause unnecessary drama, and there wouldn't be an irritating seat neighbor that slumped their head onto my shoulder, dozing off like we are best friends. Yet, here I am, scooching into the middle of a paper-thin aisle to dodge the drool creeping out of the corner of my seat companion's mouth and learning how Doug does not want to pick up Angela's mother as soon as they step off the plane. All the while, my seat jolts from the turbulence of a the six-year-old behind me that caught a bad case of restless leg syndrome.
Perfect.
"Because Angela, we won't be there for another five hours, and by the time we get there my feet wouldn't even want to walk out of the terminal, let alone pick up your mother," Doug bellowed, crashing his hand down on the armrest near my face.
Not phased by her husband's boisterous voice, she complimented the sound with a high-pitched screech, "She's your Mother-in-Law, Doug! What are we going to do? Just leave her in that freezing, rat-infested motel you put her in until tomorrow?"
Hell no, I'm with Angela. No man is leaving my mother in a fucked-up motel overnight all because his feet hurt. Selfish bastard. Before I could catch another part of Doug's screams, the child behind me kicked the seat so hard that I doubled over and tumbled out into the aisle. This gave the woman drooping on my shoulder all the space she needed to sprawl completely into my seat, making it impossible for me to go back without waking her up and causing a scene.
"Jeremiah, stop kicking the seat please," his mother chastised.
Oh sure, now you tell him. Suppressing an eye roll, I stood up and brushed myself off before getting a good glimpse of available seats. The cabin looked full, inhabited by a sea of snoring occupants. Well, except for one near the bathroom. The two-seated row held one man who sat in the window seat. Sure, the seat next to him seemed to have an out of order movie screen, and a deep stain splashed onto the dull blue seat cushion, but it was better than my current situation.
Taking my chances, I advanced over to the empty seat about five rows up from where I previously sat and plopped down next to the man who took his time surveying the outside of his pitch-black window. There were faint moments where you could catch puffy grey streaks of cloud that the plane sliced through, however, for the most part his eyes trained on the abyss of darkness.
Potent whiffs of sweet coffee traveled up to my nose, mixed in with the man's subtle cologne that reminded me of a fresh fall evening. Odors of beautiful dreary days mixed with spices of nutmeg and pumpkin; contradicting the stench-filled sludge of humidity and sweat that blanketed around my hometown in summertime New Jersey. Not wandering his gaze away from the view of the murky open air, the man graced my presence with a soft smile.
"Jackass should pick up his mother-in-law," he professed, peeling his gaze towards the couple in the back, "If I were Angela, I would start looking for a divorce lawyer."
I yawned in agreement, sinking my head into the vibration-free chair, "Took the words right out of my mouth. No one should tolerate a person who isn't willing to help out their partner."
The corner of my eyes picked up his nods that finally settled down to look over at me. His radiant, honey russet skin splashed a constellation of brown freckles that disproportionately filled the upper half of his face. He looked younger; not in the sense of age, but from a rejuvenating youthfulness that no one else possessed on this plane. Those sleep-riddled bags under his eyes emanated a kind of content one only hoped of reaching.
