AIRPLANE
Prompt - Airplane : Write about meeting someone on an airplane and a conversation you might have
I hate flying. Not the actual being in the air bit, or the take off or landing, those are simple events that happen whatever. No, it's the people. It starts as soon as you're going through security, and it's hard to tell who's the thickest, the public or the security staff. Then the massive over-commercialisation of the airport waiting areas, the lack of seating, and far too many brats. But the worst bit is being on the plane itself. A couple of hundred people, with nothing in common but their destination, crammed into a tube with no regard for personal space. That's the terrible bit.
If it's one of those first come, first seated type arrangements I'm happy to stand up early, get to the front of the queue, and dash my way into the aircraft, there to find the most suitable seat. Except there aren't any, are there? So I placed myself by a window, snapped shut the seat belt, got my book out and started reading. And sending signals. I hoped.
Nobody fat please, I don't want your blubber oozing into my side. Nobody loud, talkative, or, worst, inquisitive. The overfriendly sort who are convinced you just need 'bringing out of yourself' When you're perfectly happy inside your own head. A sleepy, introverted, skinny person is my ideal travelling companion.
So I had my head down, I'm sending out the vibes, ignoring everyone, trying my best to look even more sociopathic than I really am. But it's fully booked, so the inevitable happens. Someone is siting beside me. I risk a glance across and so far there's nobody in the aisle seat, so there isn't going to be a couple having a conversation. This has its pros and cons. I avoid the droning sound of someone else's conversation, but have an increased risk that the person might seek out my company.
Eventually another body completes our little trio. From the glimpses I've risked (I am definitely avoiding all eye contact!) the man next to me is older, perhaps in his fifties, while beside him sits a woman of indeterminate age, but some sizeable bulk. He has settled in quickly and has, to my relief, a Kindle in his hands. She is taking a long time. A stewardess is hovering, concerned that this flustered creature is going to hold us up. The women looks over at her new companions, but neither of us are looking back. She leans into Kindle man, squeezing his shoulder over towards me.
"How did you two get this sorted out so easy. It's a nightmare."
"I'm sure the stewardess will soon get you sorted out if you allow her to do her job." Curt. Sharp. To the point. Avoiding any responsibility. This from the the man in the middle. I start to warm to him, impressed with his passive aggressive response and convincing desire to remain apart from the problem.
The stewardess seizes her chance, gets the woman's belongings stowed, her belt tightened, her frustrations soothed and moves on. A pro. We all settle into our own little worlds.
Take off. Lined up on the runway, then the brakes are off and we are hurtling forward, and then, almost imperceptibly, aloft. The woman grabs hold of the nearest thing she can find. Which is the man to her left. I feel him flinch, but he allows her to grip until we have completed the climb. Then, silently, he declaws the clench and places her hand back in her own space. Without a word. I am filled with admiration for his patience and performance. He is already back into his reading. She is still getting over the shock of the big metal bird being in the sky.
We are all quiet, we are all doing what we are doing. The drinks trolley comes round. I look up, shake my head, return to my book. I can sense my nearest companion doing the same. But not aisle woman. This is her chance.
"Either of you wanting drinks? Sandwich?" We both keep our heads down. The stewardess - the same one, judging by the voice - says she's already aware of our needs and what would the lady like? Plenty as it turns out. She didn't get to be that size by accident. At least it keeps her occupied for a while.
But not for long. She tires to draw him, me, into her orbit. Asking what we're reading, where we're going, are we together? I show her the cover of my book, but that's the most she'll get from me. But man in the middle is smarter than me. He starts off on a full plot exposition until her eyes start to wander and she says she needs the toilet. She's off, waddling up the middle of the overpopulated space.
He looks at me. I make eye contact for the first time. He smiles. I smile. That's all we need. Against all the odds, I have found a friend on a plane.
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