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Place you in a romcom
(Blakely)
This airplane was so tightly packed the people on either side of me overflowed onto my seat. I tucked my elbows in, stared straight ahead, and tried to disappear, though I had dressed for notice. I shoved the sleeves on my stiff, fabulous expensive houndstooth jacket up to my elbows, feeling overheated.
Nothing was comfortable. My ironic Black Flag t-shirt was too tight, my designer jeans too stiff. The leather collar choker that I bought from an artist on Rodeo Drive constricted my air flow, she had not mentioned that. And my new hiking boots had given me blisters on my little toes.
And right now, more than anything, I needed comfort.
My throat was tight, my eyes stung. I really wanted to curl up and cry, but no, I had to sit, stare ahead, and nod and smile when spoken to by the two people sharing my two square feet of space.
They both fell asleep.
The lady on my right, wearing a bright teal sweater set, had a head list going: she’d list, then startle and then list again — just rest your head, for fuck’s sake.
The guy on the left, wearing a Dodgers baseball cap, emitted a long loud inhaling snore, then snorted, then settled into an open-mouthed deep breathing.
The flight attendant came to our row, so the guy beside me got nudged in the ribs by his wife across the aisle. Her voice was testy, “Do you want a drink, John? We’ll be in North Carolina soon.”
“What—?” he spluttered and looked dazed
“The lady wants to know if you want a drink.”
“Hell no, I don’t want a drink.” He adjusted his girth in the seat. “Wait, yes I do — ginger ale, no ice.”
His wife loud-whispered, “You know it makes you gassy.”
He grunted and took his drink.
She said, “You’re not listening, as always.”
I requested, “Vodka tonic, please.” It was placed on my tray and I slammed it down.
The lady to my right had woken up to get a drink and opened the flight magazine. She groaned loudly, for attention. “Don’t you hate it when someone else has already done the crossword?”
I forced a smile.
“Look, someone half-did it in pen! Shows a lack of respect for other people.”
I nodded and agreed, then hiccuped.
My eyes noticed the headline on the flight magazine in the pouch in front of me: An Albatross Named Wisdom.
Ooh, that was a play on words — like an albatross, like weighing you down. I hiccuped again and fished the magazine out to read. What even was an Albatross? Like a big bird, right? One of the ones that—
The lady beside me huffed. “The sudoku’s been done too.”
The flight attendant went back down the aisle and I waved her over. “Another vodka tonic please.”
She placed it on my tray and left. Peripherally I could see the lady about to talk to me again, so I flipped through the magazine for the Albatross story, took a sip of vodka tonic (possibly too much already, Blakely) dribbling a bit on my shirt, and tried to look engrossed in the article.
There was a color photo of the Albatross — weren’t they extinct? I mean, I thought so... I drank another sip of vodka tonic and lost my page, flipped looking for it — there... The albatross was named Wisdom and was not extinct — there was this one... and it was seventy years old, like wasn’t that crazy old for a bird?
I glanced up, the lady was about to ask me something, so I quickly looked down at the article. What if this albatross was my guardian animal, protect me from inconsiderate strangers? To paraphrase my aunt Pam, Lord knows I need a guardian angel shaped like a pit bull.
I finished my vodka tonic. Albatrosses fly really—
The lady beside me asked, “Does yours have the crossword?”
