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Focusing on Ruby kept me calm, my attention strictly on her facial expressions and the way the loose strands of her hair drift around her chin and long neck, the softness of her hand in mine.
When she peeks one eye open and looks at me, I’m catapulted out of my reverie and slammed back into my seat on this plane, holding the hand of a woman I don’t know.
I think we realize it at the same time, both of us releasing our grip at almost the exact same moment.
“I can’t believe we’re in the air.”
Her voice is soft, but I can still hear the nervousness underneath.
Ruby reaches out to lift the window shade but then returns her hand to her lap, leaving it firmly closed and giving her head a few shakes.
“Maybe I’ll watch as we land,” she says, talking mostly to herself. Then her eyes look over at me. “Thanks for that. You helped distract me, which I seriously didn’t know was possible.”
She gives an awkward chuckle and looks away.
Instead of responding—because, really…what am I going to say?—I take a final sip of my whiskey, hoping the last remnants in my glass can help drown out the strange sensation this girl seems to elicit from within me.
I don’t know Ruby at all, and within 20 minutes of sitting next to each other, I’m talking to her about things like love and fear and holding her hand so she’s not as scared?
I don’t do things like that.
Who does? Who actually has conversations like that?
We sit in silence for a little while, and I have a chance to think back to what we were discussing before takeoff.
All that talk about fear being about love?
Can’t say I agree with her entirely.
My sister is afraid of small spaces. I don’t know how that can possibly be rooted in love unless it’s her love of refusing to get into her dickbag fiancé’s tiny bullshit car.
And what I said to Ruby as we took off…I don’t even know where those words came from. I just know I was looking at her and she looked so terrified and small in her seat. I couldn’t not do something, couldn’t manage to keep my words to myself.
Another first.
Now that we’ve reached cruising altitude, the flight attendants begin their breakfast service, stopping by our seats to help us pull out our tray tables and lay out a tablecloth. I order another whiskey and Ruby gets a sparkling water.
There’s a little voice inside of me that’s saying I should look over and talk to her, engage in the conversation she so clearly wants to have.
But the me who has been me for a long time can’t seem to get on board. Just because I feel this insane urge to talk to her doesn’t mean I’m actually comfortable enough to do it.
So I grab my noise-canceling headphones and pop them on, selecting one of the newer Mission Impossible movies to watch during our meal.
I’ve already seen this one, which is what I prefer on flights. I put on a movie I’ve seen before so I can have part of my attention on work or other passengers or food or just general mental wanderings and not have to worry about missing something crucial to the plotline.
Which ends up working out perfectly, because twenty minutes in, I realize I’m not watching the movie at all. My attention stays focused almost entirely on the little movements in the seat next to mine as Ruby takes sips of her drink. Sets her phone on her tray then tucks it under her leg. Reaches over to open the window then pulls back, changing her mind again.
Her little ditherings have snagged my attention in a way I can’t remember having happened before, and it is both amusing and maddening.
When the flight attendant brings over our trays, I give up on the movie and tuck away my headphones, accepting that conversation with the woman next to me is not only plausible, but very likely—desirable, even, if I’m honest with myself.
Sure enough, the minute our trays are dropped off, Ruby begins to chatter.
“Did you know Tom Cruise broke his ankle filming a scene in that movie?”
I can’t say that’s where I thought she’d begin the conversation, and my response reflects my surprise. “What?”
“Tom Cruise?” she says, as if I’ve never heard of him before. “I went on a date to see Mission Impossible with a guy who was obsessed with Tom Cruise. Knew his birthday and his weight and his dog’s name and all this stuff.”
