I boarded that plane thinking the hardest part of my trip would be traveling without my husband. Instead, I found myself beside a stranger who treated my kindness like permission to walk all over me. I spent years avoiding confrontation, but this time, keeping the peace came at a price.
Four hours into my flight, the man beside me finally went to the restroom. By the time he returned, I’d done something he clearly hadn’t expected.
He stopped in the aisle, looked at his seat, and turned bright red.
“What the hell did you do?!”
Several passengers looked up.
“What the hell did you do?!”
***
At 61 and five-foot-two, I’d spent most of my life avoiding arguments. But after four hours pressed against the window, I’d finally done something about it.
The strange thing was, we’d started the flight on perfectly friendly terms.
“Looks like we’re neighbors,” the man had said while boarding.
I moved my handbag off the middle seat.
“For the next six hours, anyway.”
“Looks like we’re neighbors.”
He smiled. “I’m Josh.”
“Celeste.”
He was broad-shouldered, perhaps 50, and wore an expensive-looking quarter-zip sweater with polished loafers.
“You got the good seat,” he said, nodding toward my window.
“My daughter insisted. She thought I’d enjoy looking at the clouds.”
“She’s probably right.”
“You got the good seat.”
The older gentleman in the aisle seat introduced himself as Henry. He had a paperback tucked under his arm.
“Vacation?” Henry asked.
“Something better. I’m meeting my first granddaughter.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you. I’ve already seen enough photographs to fill an album.”
Both men laughed.
He had a paperback tucked under his arm.
I settled in.
***
It was my first long trip alone since my husband, Steven, died the previous year.
