Not out of fear. But simply due to boredom. And by "boredom", I obviously mean "loss of control of several elements in my immediate surroundings which includes, but is not limited to, the foreign bodies pressing against my own". Obviously.
It's hard for me to pony up a few hundred bucks to voluntarily sit at a 90-degree angle while I try to avoid the lung-extracting coughs from the sweaty individual next to me. If you look, you will find, in small print on the bottom of your ticket, a legally-binding clause that states you are personally responsible for introducing a rare strain of bacteria to your destination and that failure to do so may result in multiple layovers and/or prostate cancer.
Just so you know.
But there is something else more bizarre and fascinating about my arrival at airports and when I take my assigned seat in the cabin. People find me. Strangers. Sometimes, it's almost as if they've been waiting for me. Of course, this may be due in part to the fact that I try to smile faintly at those I'm surrounded by (mostly in selfish hopes that airport karma will get my luggage from A to B if I promise-promise-promise not to freak out on a flight attendant and I wash & sanitize my own hands.)
A glorious post shared by the beautiful Amy inspired memories of my travels, and how the actual traveling is an adventure in and of itself.
Memory One
I've gotta be honest here and admit that I'm not 100% certain where I was headed on this particular flight. My memory retained only one primary element from that particular trip. And it was the ridiculously handsome & polite helicopter pilot from the Air Force base. Wait! I believe we were traveling from SLC to Boise because I remember mourning how short the flight was. This was many years ago and I was already married, I believe (trivial matter, really.) However, had I not been, I would've had a very intimate ceremony with all our closest people we've never met right there on that plane. B16 would've been my maid of honor because I loved her shoes. He could pick his best man because I'm not a crazy, controlling wife. It should've been meant-to-be. We talked the whole flight and almost every answer ended in "ma'am". Which was short-flight-talk for "I love you." Yes it was.
Memory Two
I think I was headed to Minnesota for one of my best friends' wedding. I found my seat next to the window, turned my phone off, wiped the residual makeup on the screen off on my jeans and went to place it in my purse. And that was it. The businessman seated next to me, who was observing my flight preparation procedure, said, "It's so good to see someone else do that!" After we cleared up the whole "makeup" aspect, we talked for 4 hours straight. No lie. About pretty much everything because, really, it was FOUR HOURS and I can cover a lot of ground preeeeeetty quickly.
Memory Three
I believe it was on the return flight from Minnesota. I was seated next to a beautiful 16 year old girl and her mom. I remember wondering why I couldn't have looked like that at 16. But that's neither here nor there. I was reading a book. And the daughter & mom were absolutely seat-buddy ANGELS. They were quiet and polite and didn't smell funny and let me read. However. I was reading one of the funniest books I have ever read in my entire life. And I was c-r-y-i-n-g from laughing so hard. And it wasn't a pretty, wistful, "princess" cry. It was a nightmarish mash-up of grimacing from the aching abs, liquified makeup making a run for it, snorting through both my nose AND my mouth (can you DO that?). So much for my window-seat view, which was now covered in clear DNA. I finally made such an epileptic scene that the mother leaned over and, after making sure I hadn't swallowed my own tongue, proceeded to ask me what I was reading. I managed to compose myself long enough to gush into their laps about the book and will let you know when my fat commission check arrives.
Memory Four
This memory isn't quite in-line with the above 3, but I'm including it anyway. I only EVER read trashy magazines (Us, People, OK!, Cosmo, TIME, etc.) when I travel. Flights and laying by the pool are the perfect time to indulge in mind-numbing celebrity criticism and word-vomit. So, I had a few magazines tucked into the seat in front of me. The gal who sat next to me didn't have anything. I'm not even sure she had a purse with her(?!). After convincing myself she wasn't a suicide-bomber (she had great hair), I leaned over her direction and I could TELL that for one split second, I was THAT passenger to her. In her eyes was the fear & spite of someone who just KNEW their time/space/entire being was going to be invaded by some needy whacko she was trapped next to. Granted, I might still have been a needy whacko, but all I did was offer her a magazine. And she said an alarmed/relieved, "Sure...thanks." And we read together, in mutual quiet and cleanliness.Last Memory, I Promise
I was waiting for my departure, to another destination that escapes me. The airport was packed and many people were seated on the floor. I was fortunate to find a seat, but whether I sat down first or the elderly woman next to me did, I don't remember. She was knitting...a scarf, I believe. And, like most conversations that end up where you never dreamed, I have no idea how it started. But I know she lost a son and her husband within a year of each other...and that it sucked. It was the son that had a mental disability, who she cared for even as he entered adulthood. The son she would watch fly paper airplanes with with a young neighbor boy on their quiet street. He loved flying paper airplanes. His death had come only 4 months prior to our meeting. And she was knitting and sharing her story and knitting some more. I remember waiting for her to cry. But she didn't. I think she had lived a good life, knew her husband had been a good man, and knew her son didn't have to struggle anymore. She was at peace and she felt like sharing it with me. And she didn't even smell funny.
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