Page 1 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

A New Favorite Mammal

“Was this your first flight?”

The lady sitting next to me on the airplane had been watching me closely out of the corner of her eye for almost three hours. Upon embarking on the plane and finding out we were seatmates simply by luck of the draw—first-row economy class—the woman had watched me. At first, she only seemed curious, as though trying to decide whether or not I was someone who liked to make small talk with strangers. Of course, she had uttered the obligatory “hello” and “good morning,” which I had returned in kind, but she had said nothing further. A few times it looked as though she might try to strike up a conversation—once before the flight safety announcement, once when the drink and snack cart came along, and then again when her e-reader had run out of battery and she was left with nothing else to do. However, each time she seemed about to open her mouth to start a conversation she changed her mind and found something else on which to devote her attention.

Even after the plane had landed—and some odd people decided to clap for, I suppose, the pilot not sending us crashing to the Earth in a fiery ball of death—she remained silent. Her eyes continued to dart over to me as we waited to taxi up to the gate bridge. I sat patiently in my seat, my belt still fastened around my waist like a good, rule-abiding passenger, my hands clasped in my lap. The woman snuck glances at me. Other passengers made noises about wanting to hurry and get off the plane, though the flight had not been that long. The woman snuck glances at me. Finally, when the plane’s engine thrust gently to push us towards the gate bridge, her head slowly turned to me. As though she may never have another chance to say something to me, and had been dying to, her mouth uttered those five words.

Was this your first flight?

“No.” I turned my head to smile at her. “I have not flown much, but this was not my first flight ever.”

“Oh!” She gasped, delighted. “I should have talked to you sooner! I was wondering about your accent. Coming from French Canada and everything.”

Gauging her accent, which I assumed was a fairly standard American one, I couldn’t help but be amused.

“Well, my accent is because I am French,” I said. “I live in Québec now. Montreal is my home.”

“Doesn’t everyone there have an accent?” she asked as she reached for her purse.

This was an odd question as we had both boarded the plane at the Montréal-Pierre Elliot Trudeau International Airport. Surely, I was not the first French-Canadian she had spoken to in her travels?

“I suppose some have an accent like mine.” I relented. “Some do not.”

She thought about this. “You know, it just dawned on me that you’re right. Anyone who spoke English there didn’t have too much of an accent at all.”

I heaved my shoulders upward with a goofy smile.

“You don’t have to be nice.” She chuckled. “That was stupid of me.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Stupid people do not ask questions.”

She threw her head back with a laugh as she unzipped her purse.

“You’re right again!” She cackled. It was loud. She was boisterous and making a scene. I liked her immediately. “Are you coming to America for vacation?”

That question made me pause, as though I had no clue as to why I was traveling to the United States of America. Of course, I knew why I was traveling, but I didn’t know if “vacation” was the correct word for my reason to travel.

“I suppose,” I said, finally. “Yes.”

The woman eyed me suspiciously, which was fair. My response had been odd.

“Well,” she said slowly, “are you going to do anything special while you’re here? How long are you here?”

“Two weeks,” I said. “I’m here to see a friend. Yes. A friend.”

Once again, I had been unable to help myself. I’d made things even more awkward. As though I couldn’t keep from making myself sound like an international spy, slipping into America undetected through Canada, I simply couldn’t explain myself well. How does one explain that they are traveling to a different country to see a possible romantic interest they haven’t seen in two years and have only talked to via text, letters, and the occasional phone call? Was the woman homophobic?

“That sounds very nice,” she said simply, her mouth set in a tight smile.

She said no more and asked no more questions. Obviously, my social ineptitude had helped her make a decision she’d had trouble making during our flight. I hadn’t been worth speaking with—I was obviously insane—and she had been right in not speaking with me for the entirety of our flight. As the plane came to a stop at the gate bridge and people began standing, the woman seemed more than eager to unfasten her seatbelt and busy herself with retrieving her carry-on from the overhead compartment. Unfastening my seatbelt as well, I waited patiently for her to retrieve her bag, give me a nervous smile and wave, then join the line of passengers waiting to exit the plane before I stood.

My first social interaction in America resulted in a stranger thinking I was a freak. Great.

Waiting so that I was nearly at the end of the line of passengers disembarking the plane was torturous. Eager to set foot on American soil, I desperately wanted off of the plane. It had always been—for my brief twenty-two years—a lifetime dream to visit America. Of course, saying I dreamed of visiting America was confusing to anyone not from the U.S. To most of the world, “America” could mean North or South America or any of their territories. “America” is not only the United States. However, more than my desire to find out if all I’d learned about the country I referred to as “America” from going to the cinema was true, there was one greater reason that I wanted off of the plane. It had absolutely nothing to do with a new country to visit and foods to try and sights to see.

Peter.

During the flight, I’d done my best not to think of him excessively. It would have made the flight seem like an eternity. Somehow, I had convinced myself that I was merely on my first trip to America and that my excitement was for finally fulfilling a lifelong dream of visiting a country I had dreamed of for so long. It had enabled me to not bounce in my seat, shift uncomfortably, or get bored.