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“When’s your birthday?” I inquired.
“Today, actually,” she beamed. “I just turned eighty.”
“Happy birthday,” I responded, spontaneously removing my hat. “I think this should be yours.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly?—”
“Please, I insist,” I smiled, handing it over.
She accepted it with a delighted grin. “You are too kind. I wish I had something for you.”
“Well …” I glanced at the man’s head. “I do have a soft spot for baseball caps.”
“Give her your hat, son,” she directed without hesitation. “You have hundreds of them.”
He smiled, removed his cap, and handed it to me. “Easy come, easy go. I packed more anyway.” He titled his head to the side. “By the way, you look familiar.”
I slid the hat on and smiled, trying to come up with a quick reply before they figured it out. “People say I look like a young Jamie Lee Curtis.”
“You do!” the woman said. “I just loved her in the Halloween movies.” She smiled. “Thanks again for the hat, honey.”
“My pleasure,” I said as I watched the man place it overhead with their bags.
I settled back with the much smaller, more comfortable baseball cap, a wave of relief washing over me. Reclining in my middle seat, I thought to myself that I should have ditched the unwieldy hat a long time ago.
Just as I settled in, a middle-aged woman with twitchy eyes wearing an orange and black zebra-print sweatsuit lumbered into the window seat beside me, and a young man in a smart blazer claimed the aisle seat on my left.
No sooner had the woman clicked her seatbelt shut than she turned to me with an intensity that could startle a mannequin.
“My husband died on a plane,” she declared, gripping my arm for dramatic effect.
I blinked, unsure if this was some kind of odd icebreaker. “Oh … I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” she waved a dismissive hand. “He thoroughly deserved it.”
“Okay then …” I mumbled, suddenly very interested in the safety card in front of me.
“Do you believe in karma?” she continued, her eyes narrowing with curiosity as she waited for my answer.
Cautiously, I buckled my seatbelt, bracing myself. “I guess it depends on the context.”
She nodded as though I’d just agreed to a profound life philosophy. “Exactly! Harold, may he rest in pieces—or not—was a first-rate scoundrel. Sold fake insurance to retirees, squandered our savings at the casino, and even forgot our anniversary. Twice!” Her voice crescendoed with each sordid revelation.
“Oh, dear,” I responded, my mind scrambling for an escape route from this airborne confessional, but coming up empty.
“And never marry just for their looks,” she tossed in, leaning closer as if sharing state secrets. “Big mistake.”
I glanced awkwardly at the young man to my left, who seemed utterly enthralled by his phone, oblivious to the unfolding soap opera. Was this normal behavior in coach class? Do people just unload their baggage on unsuspecting strangers?
She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And then, would you believe, he ran off with his dental hygienist! I mean, she’d been inside his mouth and had seen his gums. They were bloody like a vampire’s if he ever got around to flossing. You’d think she’d have known better.” She shook her head in disbelief, her eyes wide with the sheer audacity of it all.
“Healthy gums are important,” was all I could come up with, my royal upbringing offering no protocol for this level of personal disclosure.
“His plane going down was just the universe’s way of balancing the scales, if you ask me.” Her chuckle was dark, filled with a grim sort of satisfaction. She then sighed heavily, the drama appearing to not be quite complete. “All that stress made me physically ill, but trust me, my airsickness is much worse and quite the spectacle.” She began rummaging through her zebra-print bag, pulling items out and then stuffing them back in. I was shocked when she pulled out a pack of what appeared to be camouflage-print emesis bags. “I love a theme!” she announced loudly. “Could you check and see if there are extra barf bags in your seat back? I have a feeling I’ll need them.”
While I internally questioned the practicality of camouflaged bags, I discreetly gestured to a couple of neatly folded blue airline bags, offering a sympathetic smile. Just then, the young man to my left peeled off his headphones, his interest finally piqued by the mention of airsickness.
“Did I overhear something about getting sick on flights?” he piped up, his voice surprisingly eager.
