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Maybe this is all a sign. Maybe it's my chance to meet someone new, someone who can make me forget my troubles for a day. Or maybe I'm just a desperate fool - both seem equally possible.
She closes her eyes and grips me until she's white knuckled, looking pale and tense, as if expecting something terrible to happen. While my brain tells me this is just turbulence, I can also tell that she is afraid of flying. I feel bad for her and want to comfort her somehow. Tell her again that everything will be okay and that we’ll be safe and sound in London in no time. But I’d already said almost those exact words, and they sounded hollow when they left my lips and didn't seem to bring her any comfort.
What else can I say or do without sounding patronizing or intrusive? As the plane rattles and shakes around us, I feel her take a deep breath as the seats seem to drop out from underneath us. And I do nothing because I don't know what else to do.
I sit beside her in the seat, holding her hand. Watching her silently suffer while feeling oddly helpless and guilty given that she's just a stranger.
With her eyes closed, she whispers a phrase so quietly I almost miss the words. “Olivia, I'm never going to forgive you for this.”
I can't help but wonder what she's thinking about, what she's running away from... or toward. I wonder if she has someone waiting for her in London, someone who loves her and misses her. I can't help but wonder if Olivia is a friend or a lover. I know it's none of my business, but I can't help but be curious.
I don't have anyone like that in my life. No loves, no lovers, and only a few friends. My line of work and my work hours don't leave a lot of room for friendship. I don't know that I mind though; being alone suits me somehow.
As the plane dips and sways, my stomach knots up and I feel her clenching as every muscle in her body tightens. The people around us react in panic, screams, cries, sobbing.
Then she grabbed my arm with her other hand, pressing in so close I can feel her breath on my chin as she huddles in. Her fingers, threaded with mine, squeeze tighter. She opens her eyes and looks at me with a mix of fear and gratitude.
She needs me.
And I need her too.
I feel something for her; something warm and soft and sweet. Overwhelming concern, gratitude that she’s reaching out, surprise at her bravery for clutching onto a stranger.
I feel a connection.
I smile at her and squeeze her hand back. I keep my calm and confident demeanor up like a defense mechanism, even though I’m worried about her.
“It’s okay,” I say again. “It’s going to be okay.”
She nods and leans her head on my shoulder while whispering something in my ear so softly I don’t even hear her over the sound of the plane.
But I didn’t need to hear her words.
I know what she said.
She said thank you.
And suddenly, as quickly as it all happened, everything stops. A swift announcement from the captain does nothing to put people at ease.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry about the turbulence. It appears as though we're through the worst of it.”
Someone behind me curses quietly at the captain, and it's all I can do to keep a smile off my face. I'm not surprised that no one was comforted by his words after riding the roller coaster from hell. I glance down at the woman next to me, well aware that her eyes are still squeezed closed and she's gripping me as if I’m the only thing between her and certain death.
The flight attendant gives everyone a calming smile, then opens her mouth to speak. “Unfortunately, we are running behind our scheduled landing time.”
“Oh no.” The woman next to me says before jumping to her feet. “Excuse me,” she says softly as she slips into the aisle and grabs her carry on. The flight attendant walks over to talk to her in a low voice that I can't quite make out and a moment later, both head for the restrooms.
A few moments later, the woman who was sitting next to me reappears, this time in a beautiful ocean blue dress that makes her eyes stand out more.
I stare at her in disbelief, wondering what just happened. Like a magician reaching into an empty hat and pulling out a rabbit, she looks like a completely different person. Not because anything has changed, but because she went from a completely terrified woman back to the composed, indifferent woman I’d first encountered when boarding the plane.
As she walks, other passengers follow her with their eyes. There's a grace to her movement, and the way her chin is lifted high tells me she knows people are looking and she’s used to the attention. She slips past with a soft, Excuse me and lowers into her seat.
As she opens the little shutter over the window, I try to decide if I should say something or go back to pretending she doesn't exist. I can feel the curious and admiring glances of other passengers even as she sits beside me. The flight attendant walks out and puts her carry on back in the overhead compartment, and the woman finally glances at me as if she’s regained her composure - though her cheeks are still a bit pink - a soft smile tugging the corners of her lips.
She's looking at me now, with a new intensity... it's almost as if she's seeing me for the first time. “I'm sorry about that.” As if she's expecting further questions, she quickly clarifies. “Both for clinging to you like a terrified schoolgirl and for pushing past.” She glances down at her clothing, as if that'll tell me everything we need to know before looking back into my eyes. “I had to change.”
Well, that’s evident, given that she has changed. I blink and try to find my voice. “Change? Why?” I know it's none of my business, but I want to keep the conversation going.
