Gazing out the window I notice the sun has risen. With no clouds in sight it is truly a beautiful fall day. I lose myself in thought, daydreaming about the kids who are still probably getting ready for school. I close my eyes and sigh to myself. I forgot to ask Sarah to make sure the kids wear their coats. Typical New England weather during the shift from summer to fall requires a coat in the morning and short sleeves by noon. I roll my eyes for worrying - Sarah will take care of it. They will be fine. Even if it’s forced, time away is healthy, right?
I take a deep breath and am about to open my eyes when the hair on my arms stands on end. I hear someone talking, and I think they are talking to me. But what has caught my attention is that I felt this strangers presence before his voice was heard. I open my eyes and turn my head to see a very tall man with jet black hair poking out from under a weathered Red Sox hat, and striking bright blue eyes standing in front of the empty seat next to mine and facing towards me. If my jaw wasn’t clenched I swear I’d be drooling.
While he appears to be in his late twenties, his wardrobe suggests he’s younger. He’s wearing a snug, white long-sleeve shirt that shows his muscular definition, with dark, faded jeans that look like they were tailored specifically for him and a pair of sneakers. He also has a bright red shirt slung over his arm. I know that I haven’t met him before but he looks oddly familiar.
“Excuse me,” he says pulling me from my thoughts quickly so that I’m forced to meet his stare. “I think you’re sitting in my seat,” he says politely, flashing a dazzling smile.
I return his smile and confidently reply. “I think you’re mistaken, my assistant confirmed my seat and she always books the window seat”.
Alright, so stressing the word ‘always’ was stretching the truth a bit. But I remember Cassandra saying that I had the same seat on this flight as my originally scheduled flight so I bend to get my purse, dig out my confirmation and hand it over to him. He raises an eyebrow and smirks at me as he takes the piece of paper. For a moment his eyes hold me in a trance and I have to force myself to look away. I sit back in my chair thinking this is a done deal and return my attention back out the window. A moment passes and I feel my seat shift ever so slightly towards the window. I start to turn my head towards the man and am startled that again I feel his proximity before seeing him.
The weight of his body is pushed against my seat and he is leaning across me, reaching for the digital remote on my armrest with his left hand. Simultaneously he turns his face over his left shoulder, which is only inches from my face, and presses his thumb on the remote’s screen. His eyes slowly trail over me in a way that makes me feel naked. Taken aback, I look down and watch a blue circle appear around his thumb and then fill with color. The circle is almost completely filled when he leans so close that his nose is literally in my hair. He inhales deeply and asks me, “What shampoo do you use?”
I turn to face him, which is a huge mistake, because now our faces are nearly touching. “Excuse me?” I gasp.
“Your hair. It smells good,” he replies, as if it’s no big deal.
My heart is pounding and I couldn’t make a sentence right now if I tried. A hot, younger man is hitting on me. As a married woman I should be appalled, but to my horror, I’m actually turned on. I shouldn’t feel this way, but it’s a relief to know that after all this time my body still works. Regardless, this guy is pompous and deserves to have his ego taken down a few notches. I look away and channel my self-loathing into doing exactly that.
“I’m sure someone would tell you the same if you used less body wash. You don’t have to use the entire bottle,” I tell him, wrinkling my nose. In all honesty, he smells amazing, but I need him to back up. He tosses his head back and laughs which only serves to piss me off.
“You’re blushing,” he whispers, causing goose bumps to rise all over my body. Stubbornly, I refuse to look at him despite the fact that I feel his continual gaze.
I must be startled by his invasion of my personal space and his audacity, or maybe I’m overwhelmed in general, because I suddenly feel the need to remove my jacket and possibly other articles of clothing. Holy crap, I’m burning up! Giving a sideways glare out the corner of my eyes I watch him soundlessly chuckle and know that it’s directed at me. From the armrest remote a recorded woman’s voice clearly articulates, “Drew Scott. Identity confirmed.”
“Well, unless we have identical thumb prints I think you are mistaken,” he taunts. “Plus, if you’d looked at your confirmation you’d see it says ‘aisle seat’ and it was also for another airline,” he says, handing my paper slip back to me.
He straightens up and takes a step back, politely gesturing to me with his hand that he’d like his seat. I take my paper confirmation from him and glare, a little annoyed with his smug demeanor, and even more annoyed by my internal reaction. Looking at the piece of paper I see that he’s right and I sigh. Rolling my eyes, I place my picture in the book before throwing it in my purse and then stand to move to my new seat.
He backs into the aisle making enough room so that I can follow his lead. But instead of politely following him so that he can get to his seat comfortably, I simply slide into my seat. The space between my legs and the seat in front of me provide more than enough space for him to get by, I proudly think to myself.
“So this is how the next six hours are going to be,” he comments sarcastically, walking past me with raised eyebrows and a wide grin.
I know that he’s trying to make light of the situation; a situation that really isn’t that big of a deal when I think about it. It’s not like we have to speak to each other during the flight. And the truth is I have no reason to be upset with this stranger. I must be stressed from having to be away from my family and the pressure of my husband’s investigation. I lose the fight to conceal my amusement and think how ridiculous I’m being. I shake my head at the realization that I’m behaving like a bitch and decide I’ll wait for him to sit down, and then apologize.
As he gets settled I turn towards him and begin. “Sorry. My flight got switched last minute and I almost missed my trip all altogether. I shouldn’t have been so flippant with you,” I explain.
“Don’t give it another thought. It’s easy to get territorial over seating assignments. At least, that’s how I remember it being in grade school. Plus, I kinda like your feistiness,” he confesses with humor that I barely notice as I’m hung up on the fact that he implied I was childish.
“Feistiness? You invaded my space before I even knew your name!” I snap, but he just looks at me amused.
“Now you know my name. Do I have permission to invade further?” he asks leaning forward with a raised brow.
I’m not sure if I gasp or moan but I can feel the heat rising in my face as my mouth drops open. What the hell is he suggesting?
“Let’s start over,” he says, sitting upright and clearing his throat. He’s dropped the boyish grin from his face and actually sounds sincere. “As the remote said, I’m Drew Scott,” he states, extending his hand in a truce.
“Breanne Sullivan,” I say, shaking his hand while quietly wincing at the strength of his grip. His hands must be twice the size of mine. I like to think my handshake is firm and confident, but that is lost in the crushing power of his.
“This is a pretty decent setup,” he says while looking the area over. “What do you think?” he asks, as if he’s truly interested in my opinion. Are we having normal conversation now? Did I just imagine the last few minutes?
“I didn’t really have much time to establish my expectations, but if I had, I don’t think I could have imagined all of this,” I say.
“To be honest, this is pretty standard for first class. It’s the technology that’s truly impressive,” he tells me. “Plus, a few new safety features and amenities.”
“Do you always talk like you stepped out of an infomercial?” I ask sardonically.
“Not usually, but I did just wrap up interviews for the airline. I must still be i
n spokesperson mode,” he replies dryly.
Is this guy for real? I roll my eyes and open my mouth to question his response but stop myself, thinking this is exactly what he wants me to do. With pursed lips and narrowed eyes I concentrate, trying to think of where I know his face from, but I can’t figure it out. He gives a crooked smile and I watch him take in my expression as it dawns on me that I’m staring.
“Have you figured it out yet?” he arrogantly asks with a snicker.
“Not yet,” I admit.
I feel my cheeks blush and again return his smile. He’s obviously someone who is well known or he wouldn’t be this self-righteous. His face is familiar but I don’t recognize his name. He’s really attractive and physically fit, although he doesn’t strike me as the Hollywood type. I run through possibilities in my head and am about to settle on athlete as my last option when my attention turns to the worn out Red Sox hat he’s wearing and the jersey now folded neatly on his lap. Wow, I must be tired. I’m not usually this slow.
“You play for the Red Sox, right?” I ask for confirmation, indifferent.
“Guilty,” he declares.
“Hmmm, well since I know very little about sports I may not be the best traveling companion.”
“Tell me what you want to know. We’ve got six hours. I’d be happy to teach you,” he offers, lifting his eyebrows and perching his chin on his fist.
I eye him quizzically, knowing that he has an ulterior motive.
“Thanks for the offer. I guess I should have clarified,” I reply, mirroring his posture so that my wedding ring is pointed directly at him. “I know very little because I’m not interested.”
He doesn’t seem to notice my ring, though he sits back, shooting me a confused look. No, not confused. I think he’s appalled. By the horrified look on his face, you’d think I just revealed something astonishing about myself. After the words sink in, his face contorts in disbelief.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met a person who didn’t have some level of interest in sports. It’s un-American!” he proclaims. “You do realize that baseball is the all-time American pastime, right?” he questions me incredulously.
I laugh at his dramatic reaction and open my mouth to justify my perspective but am cut off by the pilot welcoming passengers on Innovation Airways maiden flight. The jubilation in his voice, coupled with his drawn out annunciation, makes the pilot sound more like a game show host than an experienced aviator. Shifting my weight towards the aisle I watch the stewardess demonstrate how to use the new harness style seatbelt and listen to the reminder to always secure your own oxygen mask before attempting to help another passenger.
The monitors in front of each seat light up towards the end of her speech and she emphasizes how important it is to pay attention to the video, which not only highlights certain technological features, but also specifies new safety measures all passengers should be aware of, should there be an emergency. The second part gets my attention.
A few minutes into the video I’m left wondering what is so different when all of a sudden the video shows passenger seats doing a 180 degree turn to face backwards prior to impact. Apparently some study has shown an increased likelihood of survival when in a rear-facing position. Automatically this triggers a memory of a discussion with our pediatrician when Colin turned one-year old. He urged us to keep Colin’s car seat in the rear facing position until the winter was over. He had said infant death from head and neck trauma was drastically reduced when facing backwards. With rough winters in New England, the frequency of car accidents increases, so we decided to take the doctor’s advice.
Returning from my evocation, I hear the pilot announce that we are next in line for takeoff and I’m jolted back to the present. The plane’s engines intensify as the video concludes and I realize that I missed the remainder of the video, which explained the technology. Oh well. I take the picture out of my book, press it to my heart while closing my eyes and brace myself for takeoff as a single tear escapes down my cheek. If I had known the company would send me cross-country so soon after returning to work I wouldn’t have accepted the offer. But, here I sit, looking at their picture instead of being with them.
An immeasurable amount of time passes before I hear the pilot announce that we are still climbing towards our cruising altitude. However, electronics can be turned back on, and if we are ready we can begin “thumbing”. I inwardly groan at the phrase, “thumbing”. More stupid vernacular created in an attempt to coin a trendy phrase.
Uninterested, I turn my attention out the window towards the clear blue sky and a colorful landscape of trees changing color. The scenic view I’m trying to enjoy is physically interrupted by my neighbor leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, clearly excited for his preferences to load on the screen in front of him.
“This is awesome,” he says under his breath, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me, or himself. Within seconds his screen populates with icons I can’t make out and he quickly sits back in his seat, restoring my view.
“Are you alright?” he asks, concern and interest etched in his tone.
I meet his gaze and watch questions dance in his eyes, not sure what he sees in mine. Emotions are heavily lodged in my throat so it takes several attempts at clearing it before I can answer three simple words.
“I will be,” I choke out, clear my throat again and give Drew a half-hearted smile before looking back to the window.
Dropping the hold I didn’t realize I had on the gem of my necklace, I take in and then exhale a deep breath.
“Are you afraid of flying?” asks Drew, who is eyeing my chest.
Self-consciously I look down and am surprised to find I’m still holding the picture over my heart. I lower the picture and play with the corners as I hold it with both hands in my lap.
“No,” I state matter-of-factly, “I just haven’t done it in a while.”
“So why do you always book the window seat?” he presses, drawing on my earlier remark.
“You know, I’m really not that interesting a person,” I explain flatly. “Don’t you want to enjoy your gadgets?” I suggest, trying to turn the focus elsewhere.
“Eau contraire; you are literally the only person, male or female, I’ve ever met who doesn’t have some level of interest in sports. You’re strangely fascinating.”
“I hope that wasn’t your idea of a compliment,” I respond.
“Actually it was,” he tells me.
“Right. Anyway, if I’m fascinating then you should meet people outside of your little world. I’m sure you’d find thousands of people just like me,” I protest.
The corners of his mouth pull up slightly. He gives a soft chuckle before looking away and muttering, “Maybe,” in what sounds like a skeptical tone under his breath. Moments later, he returns his gaze to me with an almost thoughtful expression.
“So, the window?” he persists.
“My reasons won’t shock you like my anti-sports revelation,” I warn. “Honestly, it’s a little morbid but if I’m going down I want to watch. Plus, I find it makes the time go by faster,” I admit.
“That’s…disturbing.”
“I warned you.”
“Well, with all the options you’ve uploaded to your profile, I bet you’ll find something to pass the time….you know, since you didn’t get the window,” he comments wryly and I laugh. “Something funny?” he questions, taking note of the faint smile that has crossed my face.
Not wanting to be rude, and welcoming the distraction, I decide to be social.
“More like ironic,” I state dryly. “We’re on this plane with amazing technology, but since my flight was changed last minute, my thumb print won’t be much help,” I continue, giving a sarcastic thumbs-up.
“That’s really not an issue you know. Once we reach our maximum altitude you’ll be able to go online and update your preferences. There’s even a short questionnaire at the beginning that is evaluated and used behind the scenes to unders
tand how each passenger communicates, their preferences and to predict behavior. It’s based on Jung’s theory and is supposed to help personalize your flying experience,” he explains and his interest in the technology is evident. “And until then, you can take a look at the preferences that have been selected for you based on demographics,” he finishes.
Curveball Page 4
