Seat 2A

by Dela

  She probably thought I was a jerk for bumping into her. She probably wished I didn’t exist. She probably didn’t know that her innocent doe-eyes gave me excitement and anxiety all at once.

  She was so still that she didn’t notice a man at her right watching her. He had a white cotton tee tucked into his jeans with a black dress belt and greasy mouse-colored hair combed over, with a part practically to his ear. It was strange. I didn’t like it. He looked like a grown up toddler—but with a nasty look in his eyes. When I thought of what he was imagining, any inclination of getting a hotel room was out of the question. I couldn’t leave her with this creep.

  I picked up my bag and took a deep breath as I walked across the gate toward her. My hands were suddenly sweaty. I swiped them along my jeans, downed a fizzy gulp and prepared for a long night ahead. Nearing her, I noticed more clearly her eyes, puffy and pink.

  “Blue Christmas?” I joked with a half-smile.

  She turned to me sharply at first, then her stiffness softened, and she sat down. “I’m fine.”

  I stood in front of her, noticing her shoulders sink over the frame of her small body. Then she began to cry like a kid who just found out Darth Vader is Luke’s dad. Did not expect that.

  It would have been weird if I’d put my hand on her shoulder, so I dug through my backpack and handed her a napkin instead. “Here.”

  Her small hand reached up for it. She raised it to her nose and sniffed. “I’m sorry. It’s not your joke, really. It’s funny. It’s just that . . .”

  I waited awkwardly. Leave it to me to find the most hormonal woman in the airport to flirt with.

  “I wasn’t supposed to be traveling alone,” she erupted. Sniff, sniff. “My boyfriend, I mean . . .” Another sniff. “My ex-boyfriend and I just broke up.”

  “Oh . . .”

  I sat next to her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for my joke to be rude.”

  She nodded and cleared her throat.

  “Did he . . . ?” I couldn’t bear to ask such a personal question, but for my own selfish reasons I wanted to know how available the girl was.

  “No, it was me. I caught him with someone else.”

  Relief washed over me. “Oh . . .”

  I had no words at that moment, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, form a coherent thought. “I’m sorry,” I finally said.

  Eventually her sobs grew softer and softer, and subsided enough that she could quit rubbing her eyes dry. We sat in silence for a minute, letting the dust settle and watching passing travelers in an awkward silence. Soon enough, I knew I needed to truly apologize about her bag.

  “And I’m sorry for not helping you with your things earlier. I was worried I was going to miss my flight,” I shared.

  “It’s okay.”

  Another long minute passed.

  “It’s actually a good thing he’s not here, because I’d punch his lights out if I saw him,” I added. I had no patience for cheaters.

  Her shoulders hiccupped. Was that a laugh?

  I turned to look her in the eye. I could see the strength in her. “You did the right thing.”

  Unexpectedly, she narrowed her swollen eyes on me. “How old are you?”

  I cleared my throat cautiously and watched her closely as I tried to interpret her every little twitch. “Twenty-five.”

  She looked away before I could make out anything and stretched her legs before her. She stared at her feet as they pointed toward the maroon carpet. “Breaking up with him was never a question. I’ve known I needed to do it for a while now. I was just afraid of taking the chance.”

  Suddenly one of my dad’s lectures drifted from my nook of rare memories and into the forefront of my mind; I knew exactly what to say to this girl.

  “My pops always told me taking chances is scary, because you never truly know if you will succeed or fail.”

  “He’s right,” she said absently, still looking towards the ground, thinking or listening, I couldn’t tell. She was calm now, like a fawn in a meadow, peaceful as her breathing steadied.

  “I disagree with this whole chance philosophy though,” I said.

  Her foot motion stopped, and she glanced to me with a curious expression. “Why?”

  “I’m afraid of a lot of things, but taking chances isn’t one of them.”

  “And why is that?” she smiled mischievously.

  “Chances are a misconception. People think they’re given—or occur—by luck. So then what? People begin to expect chances. They demand chances even when they’ve done nothing on their part to achieve whatever it is they want. I think it’s ridiculous. You create chances when you take whims. That’s what’s scary.”

  “And why is that, Seat 2A?” she asked, leaning back with her arms crossed. There was a sly smile parting her lips. I smiled back, thoroughly enjoying my new nickname.

  “Because a whim is within you. You can’t control it. You can’t prepare for it. It’s a sudden desire, unusual and unexplained. It makes you do crazy, random things, which usually send you to a place of uncertainty and rejection. And that’s scary. The way I see it, nobody is entitled to a chance when they haven’t taken the risk of a whim.”

  She chuckled. “That’s deep.”

  I laughed. It was deep, maybe even too much so, but I had always felt our whims defined us.

  Just then her hands pressed against her stomach.

  “You hungry?” I wondered aloud.

  “Yes, but I just ate a salad, and I don’t think it’s settling right with my stomach.”

  She looked uncomfortable but I didn’t press the issue. I was wondering what she was going to do for the night when my pocket suddenly vibrated. I pulled out my phone and grunted when I saw my friend Ryan’s name. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”

  “No problem.”

  I stepped over into the gift shop and called him back. “This better be good.”

  “Bro, please tell me you made your flight?” He had to shout over the blaring music in the background.

  “Of course I did. But I’m stuck in Minneapolis.”

  “Why?” He hollered unintentionally.

  “Why do you think? The storm is too bad right now. No one’s going anywhere tonight.”

  “Okay man. But hurry. Whistler is crawling with the ladies.” He snickered aloud, but it sounded like it was directed to someone.

  “How’s the snow?” Forget the ladies, I thought, glancing at my vixen. My heart started to race when I noticed her looking around. “Got to go Ryan.”

  I hung up before he could respond, already a foot’s pace away when she looked up.

  “The gate attendant just announced our new departure time tomorrow,” she said grimly. “Six in the morning.”

  “Are you going to use their hotel or just stay here?” It was already nearing nine p.m., so I figured it was okay to be so direct.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she responded, taken aback.

  I sat back down in my seat. “You never told me where you’re going.”

  “I’m going to Whistler. You?”

  “Same.”

  She watched me suspiciously. “Alone?”

  “I think I’m the one who should be asking you that,” I surmised playfully.

  She let out a breath and smiled. “Best friend’s wedding.”

  “Mancation.”

  “Mancation?” Her tone held amusement.

  I grinned, happy with her change in attitude. “When my buddies and I get together without any ladies it’s called mancation. This year we’re snowboarding.”

  “Then why are you alone?”

  “I had to stay late to work. Everyone flew in yesterday.”

  Her eyes gave me a quick sweep. “What do you do?”

  “I work in an office.” I tried to keep my voice down to its normal tone. I hoped she couldn’t sense my tenseness, or my lack of eagerness to share my personal life.

  “Doing what?” Shoot.

  “I look at . . . papers . . . all
. . . day.”

  She studied me a moment, her lips pressing into a bleak smile. This doe wasn’t stupid, I could tell by the way her eyes smiled at me, but she was kind enough to let it go and looked down to her fingernails.

  “And what do you do, Miss . . . ?” I asked.

  My question caught her off guard. She hesitated, probably wondering if it was smart to give a stranger her name, then her body loosened, and she held out her hand.

  “I’m Brooke. Brooke Evans.”

  I shook her hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Brooke. I’m Kendal.”

  “No last name, Kendal?”

  I chuckled. “Well I could have lied and given you a false first name and my real last name, but I didn’t. Kendal is my real name, and I give out my last name on a need-to-know basis.”

  “Very well.” She laughed and bowed her head.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She leaned closer to my ear, and I could smell a warm note of honey. She spoke so softly it made my eyes flutter. “Brooke’s not my real name, but Evans is.”

  “Liar!” I laughed, and she did too. “Very well, agree to keep half our names a secret?”

  “Agreed.”

  Suddenly her hands flew to her stomach again at the sound of another grumble.

  “Oh . . . that stupid noise. I wish there was an off button for hungry stomachs,” she said. Her blush gave her rosy cheeks and added a glisten to her eyes when another grumble shook our chairs. She grabbed her stomach apologetically, laughing somewhat, as I reached into my backpack for the large chocolate chip cookie I’d just bought.

  “Sometimes me think, what is friend?” I grunted in a Cookie Monster voice as I broke the cookie in two and held out the other half. “And then me say, ‘Friend is someone to share the last cookie with.’”

  Brooke stared at me, perplexed, then at the cookie still in my hand, then back to my eyes.

  “Are you going to take it, friend?” I asked.

  “I . . . uh . . . that was sweet.” Her tiny fingers pulled the cookie from mine and brought it to her lips. She looked at me through her dark lashes before taking the first bite. “Thank you.”

  I smiled back, then chomped a large piece off. “Why are you so hungry, Brooke?”

  “Whenever I get real upset over something, my body can’t handle eating. Like the food is a threat or something. It’s horrible.”

  “That is horrible.”

  We munched our cookies silently and stared at the snow falling behind the darkened windows. I glanced at my watch, still wondering what she was going to do for the night.

  “I think I’m just going to crash on the floor,” she finally said. Her fingers fiddled absently with the crumbs of the remaining cookie. She was in no shape to be staying alone in her current state.

  “I’d like to stay with you, if you don’t mind. To make sure you’re okay.”

  “Oh, no, really. You don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe, but it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to leave you. Really, it wouldn’t be a big deal. I’ve slept on airport floors plenty of times. I’ll go grab some blankets and pillows.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, seeming relieved as I strode away.

  I crooned a smile. “In the worst way.”

  Chapter Three

  Jessie

  The pre-packaged chef salad wasn’t too bad. I forked another cherry tomato and looked out the window with a desperate glance, hoping the nasty weather would have changed since I last saw it. Maybe the sun would poke through the cold sleekness and warm the frost enough to get us in the air. Maybe my ex wasn’t cheating, and it was my cheerleading sister who made him do it. Yeah, right. It was more likely the blizzard would subside and melt than it was that the bastard was clean in any of this.

  My hand was shaking as I speared the last few leaves of day-old lettuce when my phone rang. It was him. I rejected it immediately and wasn’t surprised to hear the voicemail chime. I listened to his message and how he was sorry and how he missed me and how he wanted to know if I was okay. Sure, buddy. Were you thinking about that when your tongue was down Sarah’s throat?

  I stood angrily and dialed Regina, pacing all the while as I told her what happened. I had kept it a secret until now, not wanting to stress her before the wedding. Then again, she didn’t like him anyways.

  “I’m fine,” I reiterated, my body trembling as Regina repeated everything to Jake.

  “Like hell you are!” Regina yelled back. “I’m just pissed that you’re traveling alone. How long did you say your flight was delayed?”

  I looked back toward the windows, sickened and tired, and a tear fell down my cheek. The icy flecks piled in the corners of the darkening windows, and the red flares on the tarmac were soft electric sparks flickering hazily in the hazardous distance. I was going to be here for a while. “Until tomorrow.”

  “They going to put you up?”

  “I’m fine, really. I can take care of myself, Regina.” My voice was tight as my throat chocked.

  “I know you can, Jessie. I just love you. Want to make sure you get here in one piece.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I board the plane.”

  My situation weighed on her, I could tell. We’d been best friends for fifteen years, and I decided that I wasn’t going to let her see me unglued. I would take this time to shape myself up and be there for her. He didn’t define me. He just took the last three years of my life, and left me a piece of quivering flesh from head to foot. I threw my hands over my face when it became too much, pressing them hard into my eyes to stop me from crying. Crying in public was the most embarrassing thing I could think of, and now I was doing it hard, and probably really ugly.

  “Blue Christmas?” A tender voice asked.

  I turned around, confused. Eventually my unwavering eyes fell on Seat 2A. He had a playful expression that triggered the wrong emotion, and I lost it, again. I hurried and sat down before my legs could give out on me.

  “I’m fine,” I rushed to say before more wetness gushed from my eyes. But it did. The falls came, and it was all I could manage. I didn’t even have it in me to tell him to leave me alone. He rustled through his backpack while I whimpered my heart out, remembering all the good memories I would miss, then he held out his hand.

  “Here.”

  He was holding a napkin. I took it graciously. “I’m sorry. It’s not your joke, really. It’s funny. It’s just that . . .”

  And then I told him about my ex. How could I have been so depressed to share my life story with a complete stranger? How could I have found comfort in telling him that? He quickly apologized for his joke, and then it went silent. Did I make him uncomfortable? I cleared my throat, searching for something intelligent to say. I was a recent graduate after all.

  “Did he . . .?” he wondered aloud, and I knew exactly what he wanted to know—if he was the one to break it off.

  I found pleasure in my response and smiled for the first time in what felt like ages. The muscles in my smile were cold and rough and unfamiliar, like the first time I rode a bike. Seat 2A was sensitive by nature, I could tell when he apologized for my crappy situation, but I hadn’t expected him to apologize about my purse afterward.

  “It’s okay,” I said, feeling responsible for his newfound guilt. And then something changed, and there was a spark of anger in his deep green eyes.

  “It’s actually a good thing he’s not here because I’d punch his lights out if I saw him,” he said.

  I laughed. It was refreshing to imagine him getting punched. Nobody would dare do that back home, especially not to the president of Pi Kappa Alpha. He barked commands, wore pink polo shirts, and made freshmen feel small and incompetent. It’s my job, Jessie. His words—words I had so desperately wanted to believe—circled in my head at the beginning, until I had eventually quit arguing and resigned to secretly despising him for being a jerk.

  “You did the right thing.” The man paused. He was still here, watch
ing.

  I looked up and noticed his youth and how his eyelashes were unbelievably curly. His handsomeness was growing on me when his rudeness wasn’t in the way. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  His face looked like it came out of a super-hero comic book—those cheekbones, those thick eyebrows, that chin, and how it reminded me of Disney’s Paul Bunyan, so strong and square. Yet his hair was very fashion-forward, with his short and shaggy Mohawk going on. I looked away and stretched my legs, hopefully before I made him feel I was staring too hard.

  After I told Seat 2A I should have broken up with my ex earlier, he told me something profound that stuck to me like syrup. It was warm and sweet, but its truthfulness startled me. Whims.

  He smiled when I called him Seat 2A, and I returned the grin.

  “. . . The way I see it nobody is entitled to a chance when they haven’t taken the risk of a whim.”

  I laughed. “That’s deep.”

  My stomach was suddenly cramping really badly, and randomly made a loud noise. I declined his offer to eat right when his phone rang. He left to answer it, and minutes later when he hadn’t returned, I felt alone all over again. I looked around for him, wondering if he’d come back when the intercom announced our departing time. Now what? Undo my check-in to sleep in a cheap hotel in hopes that I’d actually be able to get rest? That wasn’t going to happen; my body was too restless.

  Seat 2A returned, and he was going to Whistler too.

  Who the hell calls a man vacation a “mancation”? It sounded funny. But why was he going alone? Oh . . . work. I wondered what he did. He was too casual-looking to be a businessman . . . office? So he was an office man. I stared at him suspiciously. He played the good guy slash secret hero well. There was playfulness and carelessness in him, but heroes have other lives, and I wondered what that other life was. He was fidgety, and I knew he wasn’t telling me something, but I let it go. It didn’t matter; I’d only know this boy for a few hours longer. Shame.