Moss and Other Musings

“Nervous flyer?”

“What?”

“Oh—sorry. I didn’t realize you had earbuds in. I asked if you’re a nervous flyer.”

“…Yeah. A little.”

“I thought so. You’ve been twisting your hands like they personally offended you. And you’re pale. Here, take off that coat. Or wait, see this little vent? Cool air helps. There. Better?”

“I guess.”

"I was nervous the first few times too. Then I realized the likelihood of getting into a car accident is way higher than a plane crashing."

“Please don’t mention planes crashing right now.”

“Fair enough. What I mean is, it feels worse than it is. The fear.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“What are you listening to?”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry—earbuds again. What are you listening to?”

“Just an album.”

“What kind?”

“Why do you care?”

“I like knowing what young folks choose to fill their heads with. Music tells you things about a person, things they wouldn't say out loud.”

“…It’s instrumental.”

“Ah.”

“I don’t know how to say the composer’s name. Here, this is how it’s spelled.”

“Well, that’s going straight on my list. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you a musician?”

“No.”

“Then what do you do?”

“Botany.”

“A scientist! How wonderful. What kind?”

“It’s not very impressive.”

“Try me.”

“Moss.”

“Moss?”

“I study moss. Bryology.”

“Well. I’ve walked past a great many important things without noticing them, haven’t I? Moss included. I should fix that. I’ll find a good patch when we land and really look at it. Why did you choose to study moss?”

“…Why are you talking to me?”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I? We’re seat-mates, after all. Why sit next to each other in silence when we have a few hours to make a new friend? Who knows, talking to strangers just might change your life. It's certainly changed mine.”

“You really just talk to strangers like this?”

“I do. Otherwise the days blur together, and loneliness gets to you.”

“…Huh.”

“See? Now I know a bryologist. I didn’t this morning.”

“Alright. I chose to study moss because it’s…slow. Patient. And it’s been around for hundreds of millions of years. I find it fascinating, there's nothing else like it.”

"I had no idea it was so old. To think, that fluffy green stuff knows more about this world than all of the trees combined. It was even around for the dinosaurs! That's really something.”

“I’m glad someone else appreciates it. So what do you do, then?”

“I used to paint.”

“Used to?”

“I’m retired.”

“You don’t sound thrilled about that.”

“I loved it. I just ran out of reasons to rush.”

“You could still paint.”

“Sure, but I've got arthritis in my wrists, and I might not have enough time left to get good at moss.”

“You don’t have to be good.”

“That’s a very young thing to say.”

“And that’s a very old thing to answer with.”

“Alright, you got me. Where are you headed?”

“A funeral.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It never is, but people say it anyway. Happens to us all, eventually. But you’re still young, you’ve got lots of life to live, yet. Lots of moss to study.”

“…Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“At least the funeral you’re going to is somewhere pretty.”

“That’s what they keep telling me.”

“I’m looking forward to my time out of the city. Say, you look tired.”

“I am.”

“From the trip?”

“From everything. Life gets tiring. I work a lot.”

“Oh, I know that better than most. Well, I hope that when we land, you notice something small. Something new. Go outside and look at some trees. There should be daffodils blooming this time of year, too, cheery little things. Go take some deep breaths in nature before you get back to working and attending funerals.”

“Why?”

“Because those things are still alive. And so are you. It’s good to remember that now and again. Our lives aren't supposed to be just about work. We're just creatures in this world too, after all.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And you? Where are you heading?”

“When this plane lands, I’ll be closer to the end than I was this morning.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, just the musings of an old woman who’s nearly reached the finish line. Who knows how much time I’ve got left. I wanted to spend it somewhere beautiful, by the sea. But hey, I got to talk to you. You remind me of my late husband, when he was a young man.”

"What was he like, your husband?"

"Oh, he had a great sense of humour. Always knew where to find the best wildflowers. Kind. But he worked too hard, burnt himself out too young. I’ll be happy to see him again, in the next life."

“I hope you do. He sounds like a good man.”

“He was. I'm grateful I got to meet him.”

“…Hey.”

“Yes?”

“I think I’ll leave the earbuds out. For the rest of the flight.”

“I was hoping you would. Now, tell me more about moss.”