I was sitting there, in seat 27C, drinking a double margarita on the
rocks out of one of those cheap plastic airplane cups, minding my own business when
she crashed into my world. Literally. Flight 280 from Seattle to Minneapolis was
struck by one of those fantastically strange pockets of turbulence that seem to come
out of nowhere and knock drinks off trays and knock people off feet. And knock her
onto me. I’d had my headphones on at full volume, attempting to drown out the
antics of the 10 year old sewer rats sitting behind me, when it’d hit, when she’d
hit, when we’d met.
With a shriek, a mess of young blondness fell on top of me. The rest of the plane
hooted and hollered as stomachs dropped with surprise and momentary fright. I
reached out to grab an arm to help her back to her feet, back to the aisle. At the
same time she’d twisted, which had the effect of sitting her squarely onto my lap.
Firmly, onto my lap.
We paused.
She smiled. She reached to lift my blue beanie off my eyes, presumably for a better
look. We paused a moment longer and stared at silly mirror blues. I saw the ocean
and the sky and the future. I saw love, that Hollywood style love we all long for.
Eyes that blazed with wonder and possibility and life and adventure. I saw
confidence and dreams. I saw the look in a young woman’s eyes that men spend lives
searching for. I saw hand holding at the beach, and introducing her to my parents,
and puppies and flowers and lemon spice babies.
She leaned in for a better look, her face only inches from mine. She smelled sweet
and young and fresh and alive. She smelled like youth in action and fire and
passion. She shifted on my lap and felt like late night dance parties and hands on
hips, and spinning, and sweaty barefoot smiles.
I grabbed her hand to help her up, off of me, back into the aisle, out of my life.
She took a step towards the back, but lingered, not letting go. She felt it too.
She suddenly got shy and impish and stared at her feet, cheeks turning rosy, eye
contact lost.
I shifted in my seat, but held my gaze. What exactly are the rules here? What’s
the proper play when a girl literally crashes into your world at 36,000 feet? She
should have turned and continued down the aisle by now, and yet, here she was, still
pausing next to Seat 27C.
Softly, “Hey, I’m Sean.”
–
Sean Brown
is here,
and you can follow
him on Twitter here.
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