Sky-high crushes

I had noticed him sitting in the BMI lounge. About twenty of us sitting there, strangers connected by the deep frustration of the irrational fog and our flight that was caught up in the fuzzy madness of it all. Each one had our own way to deal with it – one lady was busy engaged in a loud, gossipy conversation with someone called ‘luv’ on the other end of a line; one girl whined to her partner at every breathing interval while another couple kissed every 15 minutes or so (I should have timed them). Others sat blankly, thinking perhaps of the people waiting for them at the other end, their spouses growing increasingly frustrated, the children growing sleepy and cranky, waiting for mommy to return so that they could greet her and get to bed.

I wondered what stood waiting for us twenty delayed passengers, caught in a terminal…not quite in London and two hours from the Glasgow we so longed to reach. Christmas was in 2 days… were we all going back to families, to the warmth of their comfort, to ridiculous overeating of roast and pudding, drinking too much wine, and bad personal renditions of Christmas carols (possibly as a result of the wine consumption)? Or were there among us escapees, running away from family, eager to find a different kind of peace?

I wondered especially about him, what was he going to? Where was he coming from? Was the frown he carried because the flight delays kept him from family, from a loved one, or was it from the frustration of not being able to escape yet? I couldn’t quite tell… he let out a sigh, and looked up suddenly, and I looked away…

**

A three-seat row. Sigh. I truly dislike those. At least I got the window seat, grateful that my random selection of seat gained me that. I settle down and buckle up, preparing to sleep when I see the ‘stranger’ I was to squish next to…it was him. Ah. His seat was in the aisle, so there would be no ‘squishing’ (damn), but suddenly, all thoughts of sleep are abandoned. I pull out my book, and pretend to read.

**

About 500 glances later in his direction, and 1 ½ hours on the tarmac waiting for the flight to take off, I’m about to die. I have to say something to him. I don’t know why. It’s not like me at all. Blame it on the 30 something hours of traveling I’ve had to go through so far…chalk it up to tiredness, stress, crazy holiday spirit. I don’t know what it is, and frankly, I don’t quite care. All I know is that it suddenly seems really important that I say something. Talking to strange guys…yeah, a rite of passage of sorts that I suddenly feel I have to go through. So after the five hundred and first glance, I do it. My great opener. My fabulous conversation starter.

‘Would you like a piece of chocolate?’

The InnerMe rolls over and tries to die.

He looks up at me, and smiles an amused little grin, ‘No, thank you’. Ah…what a voice. What a lovely accent…a clear British accent (that would make good ol’ Mom E proud), with a hint of the Scottish tone. My heart melts a little.

Ok, so that didn’t go very far. Feeling brave, I try again. ‘So…is Glasgow your final destination?’. Turns out it is, and when he asks, I tell him I’ve got to travel to Dundee.

And so we start talking…about the weather (literally; ‘A blizzard I can understand, but a fog? A fog? – he laments over the weather that’s holding us up, to which I reply ‘Yes, well, a fog may not seem like much but I don’t know about you, but I’d like the pilot to be able to see…sight seems rather important when flying a plane’.)…about what we both do (he works in London, and is ‘in finance’…me: ‘I have to be honest, I can’t even pretend to find that interesting’…that earns me another laugh and my heart melts a little more. Gosh, I’m such a sucker). We talk about life, what we are passionate about…we speak wistfully about our dreams, where we’d love for life to take us, the paths we have traveled or hope to be travelers on…he tells me he has traveled the globe, gone to every continent except Asia...that’s next on his list. He worked in Africa for sometime, when he volunteered for the U.N. Clever, interested in cultures, a traveler, excellent conversationist, funny, volunteers AND really, really cute? I was about ready to die, except this was too good to miss, too much fun to cut short. I was so close to swooning right off my seat. I know now the importance of seat belts…forget turbulence. That pales in comparison to this. They should put this on the flight safety manual.

**

That damn fog really can’t be counted on for favors; why couldn’t it delay our landing? How rude of it to disappear, and to have us land on time…how dare it not prolong our journey and allow me more of this splendid conversation?

We land, and too quickly passengers start grabbing their stuff and filing out of the plane. I’m always very slow, I hate the rush and the pushing, and in my slowness I realize he is gone. Left the plane. Sigh. I take my stuff and leave.

But no, wait… there he is, waiting as I step off the plane. He smiles, and together we walk to baggage collection, chatting along the way, teasing each other about our families abandoning us after that long delay. He offers his phone for me to ring my cousin, and says he’ll walk with me to look for her. I sigh internally, a long, silly, happy sigh.

We chat some more, waiting for our bags to arrive. I secretly pray that our bags come last, or even better…that there has been a problem, and we’d have to wait a couple of hours for them. Oh how lovely…when I want a delay, why won’t the Universe grant me one? But never mind, for now I will be content in this, in this simple chatter and company.

Till suddenly I hear it ‘Trina?’…Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, I scream internally. Nonononononononononono… my cousin found me. I try to pretend I didn’t hear that, to will her away. I’m glad to see you but go, go go go go go…. It’s hopeless. She tries again, louder ‘Trina??’. I turn around, abandoning him, as she hugs me and starts to chat away. What am I to do? Selfish InnerKat screams ‘leave her be!!’, but I couldn’t do that…she had driven 2 ½ hours from Dundee and waited over 3 hours for me to arrive. Why, why why why oh why? Sigh. From the corner of my eye I see him pick up his bag. He looks at me and I turn to him, unsure how to do this…to bid goodbye to the best conversation with a stranger, to suddenly end it, to prematurely terminate our non-relationship. We finally resort to an awkward ‘bye, it was nice talking to you’.

He half-waves, picks up his bag, and walks away.

I look at him leave, and realize I didn’t even get his name…

Sigh.

~*~