Love on A Plane

“Excuse me ma’am,” the flight attendant said.

“That’s your seat.” A woman in her mid to late forties points to a seat across the aisle. She was bossy, but not unkind.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The woman she was speaking to replied.

“I’m drunk.”

Most of the passengers within earshot shot her a quick glance. “How drunk?” I thought. This was a long flight. I wasn’t sure we’d all make it if she got sick.

I looked back into the pages of my book and decided it would all work out. And it didn’t matter anyway, because once we landed I’d have no worries in the world.

I did wonder why the woman was drunk, though. There could be a million reasons. Of course, the classic alcoholic reasons. But also, maybe someone died and she was coping. Who knows. I definitely knew what it was like to lose someone, I wasn’t there to judge.

She seemed pretty interesting. She had dark hair with bouncy tight curls, dark skin, and some pretty rockstar sunglasses on. There seemed to be a secret about her. A mysteriousness sitting on her tattooed skin. “I bet her eyes are beautiful,” I thought.

I looked over at her and she was slumped in her chair. Seemingly paralyzed. “Maybe she passed out?” I thought. I wondered if the bossy flight attendant would consider bringing her a cup of water.

I looked back to my book and began reading the pages of Emily Dickinson’s best and sooner than later, I dozed off.

I woke up to a big pop as loud as a firecracker. I shot up, alerted. As did all the people around me. In full panic, I looked around. I saw a man exhale and his shoulders drop. I followed his stare down to the floor of the aisle. Ah, someone stepped on a pretzel bag. Whew. We aren’t dying today.

I looked back over at the woman who said she was drunk earlier. She was awake now. Her sunglasses were still on. I stared a little longer and noticed something. Her shoulders were ever so slightly sighing up and down. Like a dry heaving of sorts. “Was she crying?” I thought to myself. I stared a little longer. I looked a little closer. There were tears streaming down her face. In a rapid succession. I watched as they dripped slowly but quickly onto her hand. Her hand that was resting peacefully in her lap. One on top of the other.

Of course I wondered what she could be crying about.

There’s really only a few things in life that made me cry as hard as that. Most of them, death. When my best friend died, when my dog died, and the time I hit a cat in the street.

(The other times were when I broke my femur playing professional soccer and jumping off a cliff in Mexico). Yeah it’s been a wild ride. I’ve experienced a lot. But it looked like, to me, this woman was experiencing something similar.

I felt connected to this woman now. Invested in her feelings. I needed to know so that I could give her some empathy. Give her a hug.

Our flight was to land in Sao Paulo, Brazil at 9:39 AM. I knew when we got off the plane, I’d talk to her.

I didn’t know what I’d say, but that’s for later anyway.

We landed. And as we offloaded from the plane, I tried to maneuver my way to get closer to her. Her tears were probably dried but I imagined her emotions were still present.

Finally, I got to her. She smelled earthy and mysterious. Of teak wood and lavender.

And I patiently waited until the right moment to bring up something so delicate and potentially heavy.

We made it off the plane, through the corridor, and out into the airport. “This is my chance!” I said to myself. And I summoned the courage inside and said, “Are you okay?”

The three little words that we all crave to hear, but are too scared to ask each other. I had learned that asking strangers this came with varied responses. That’s the scariest part of vulnerability, not being able to predict or control the outcome.

She looked at me, still through her circular gold rimmed, dark shaded sunglasses, and said, “Oh, you saw me crying?”

“Yeah, I did.” I said. As non judgemental as possible.

I let there be a long pause.

“Well, I guess no. No, I'm not okay.”

I knew. I knew before she could say it. It was going to be one to three words and then the word “died.”

I let there be another silence.

And she responded, with a quivering lip, (I was sorry I was likely going to start the tears again) “my best friend died.”

My heart sank. I immediately knew what it was like without knowing at all.

“I am so so sorry.” I said.

It seemed like we were walking in the same direction. I knew we were both tired from the thirteen hour flight, but I also knew from experience (especially if this was really raw for her) that being alone was more painful than being tired.

“Would you like to get some coffee?” I asked her.

She took a moment to think about it. And then responded, “Yes?” with a smile. She took off her shades that made her look so cool even though I knew they were just to hide the tears. And from behind them appeared the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Sea glass colored, like the ocean.

Maybe I believe in love at first sight. Or maybe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.