Chris re-reads the page again for the third time. Usually he finds airports to be the best place to read; they’re relatively quiet, and people watching is far better than any coffee shop or patio. However, across from him there’s a loud man who’s interpreting the people staring at him as a request to join his conversation about some ‘loser’ he works with. He raises his voice incase the old man in the terminal next over can’t hear. Chris looks up to fling another dagger at the plump, sweaty man. It’s lost on him though. Chris looks back down at the lost spot in his book and closes it in his lap. Big Talker has moved on to the subject of how most lesbian women are always unattractive, and the pretty ones are in denial. His belly ripples in his t-shirt every time he laughs. Unlike most, his southern accent is not flattering on him. The poor defenseless man that has leant his right ear to the conversation looks embarrassed and refuses to make eye contact with anyone else. Chris notices sweat starting to form on The Ear’s forehead. 'Nervous sweat' Chris thinks.
Another possible victim sits down on the left of Big Talker. Chris’ eyes climb over the mountainous belly to the newcomer. His gaze rests on a younger girl killing her eardrums with loud music. She’s playing with her IPod but senses his gaze and looks up at him through her eyelashes. Chris rolls his eyes to say: “can you believe this guy?” The Girl seems not to notice. The song she was listening to changes to something angrier and louder.
Out the terminal windows, there are planes coming in and out of the Chicago airport. He briefly wonders if he made the right decision; going to Louisiana on his own vacation time without an official request from the editor to do the piece. There’s a plane taxi’ing towards the terminal and the pilot and stewardesses are getting ready to board. The coffee has suddenly taken effect on his bladder. Now was his chance to get a couple minutes of peace before getting on the plane.
“Sweet-heart?…Sweet-heart!” Big Talker’s facing the girl with the music. She either can’t hear him or is ignoring him so he leans into her ear: “Sweet-HEART!”
Chris’ bladder can wait a minute. He remains seated and his eyes flick back and forth between The Girl and Big Talker.
Without saying anything, The Girl takes a deep breath, removes the ear bud from her ear and slowly turns her glare to Big Talker.
“Doll, yaw’ music is just too loud for anyone to think. Now why don’t turn that down a notch. Yaw’ gonna burst an ear drum.” He says to The Ear beside him: “I swear, they shouldn’t even let the volume go that high on these I-thingies.”
“I’m not your ‘sweat-heart’!” The girl says.
“Pardon?” Big Talker wasn’t expecting a response.
“I’m not your sweet-heart, and my music wouldn’t be so loud if you weren’t shouting your conversation to everyone in the airport. No one cares! So why don’t you turn it down a notch!” she confidently turned her music down and stared forward. Her eyes flicked towards Chris in a brief moment before returning to her IPod.
Big Talker huffed at The Ear and slunk a little deeper into his seat.
Chris gathered the little things he had to go to the restroom as they announced boarding for his flight.
Chris returned to the terminal where everyone was boarded. He noticed Big Talker and The Ear hadn’t moved yet. The Girl was gone. Up at the counter a fully lipsticked woman in a blue suit took his ticket, scanned, ripped and handed it back to him in one swift motion. “Have a nice flight!” she said and reached for the next person’s ticket as Chris passed through. Like a pull-string doll; “Have a nice flight!” the stewardess repeated.
Aboard the plane, Chris looked at the ripped portion of his ticket. Seat 15B. At least the plane only had four seats to a row; and he was in the aisle seat; that meant he could stretch out his long legs.
Seat 11: full. Seat 13: full. Chris looked up counting and anticipating the upcoming seat 15. The girl was sitting in Seat 15A. His slight excitement distracted him from the purse strap on the floor that he unknowingly slipped his foot into. By the time he noticed, he was already in a mid-air swan dive to the floor of the plane. He caught his six-two, 170 pound frame on his elbows, but not before his knee smashed into an armrest with a crack. There were a few chuckles and a couple gasps.
Chris quickly jumped up and looked at the handbag owner. She didn’t say anything but grabbed her purse and tucked it more securely under the seat in front of her. A stewardess yelled at him: “you OK?” He waved backwards at her.
Chris looked at the girl. She was looking out the window, her hand resting on the side of her mouth to hide her smile. It wasn’t unnoticed by Chris. He could she her cheeks pushing little laugh wrinkles in the corner of her eyes.
Chris sat down and put his book in the back-seat compartment.
“Figures.” The girl said.
“I’m sorry?” Chris asked thinking she was referring to the inconvenience of having to sit beside such a klutz.
“Oh nothing.” She nodded and pointed ahead.
Directly in front of them, Big Talker was forcing his duffel bag into the overhead compartment.
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