I never realized that airplanes were so cramped. By the time I maneuvered myself into my economy window seat and managed to wedge my backpack between my knees, I was a little sweaty and I’ d hit my head twice on the overhead bin. I shut my eyes for a moment and was trying to slow my slightly frantic breathing when someone plopped into the seat next to me. I looked over as subtly as I could.
My neighbor was a middle-aged man, wearing green pants that could only be described as“ trousers” and a loud Hawaiian print shirt. He had a leather satchel in his lap and curly, graying hair against olive skin. When he smiled at me, wide and friendly, I saw a tiny diamond embedded in one of his canines.
“ I am Mr. Smith,” he said, in a voice that sounded like it had worked very hard to eliminate an accent. He stuck a brown, lined hand over the drab airplane armrest.
“ Kate,” I said, a little warily but trying to hide it. I shook his hand, timidly. In my head my dad was lecturing on the importance of a firm handshake and the benefit of talking with one’ s fellow travelers. I pulled my limp fingers back.
“ Ah, yes,” Mr. Smith said.“ Kate, that’ s right.” My stomach gave a pinch of apprehension. I turned partially away, hoping to signal that I didn’ t want to talk.“ Coming home from school?” He asked.
I nodded yes and gave him a tight smile, then turned fully to face the front as the flight attendant began her safety demonstration. I could feel Mr. Smith still smiling at me, but after a moment he turned towards the front too, watching the stewardess demonstrate how to adjust the straps on an oxygen mask.
I peered out the window as the plane took off, watching the ground drop away below us. Soon the plane was passing over the outskirts of the city, and then we were punching through the clouds to the bright, hot sunlight above them. I pulled out my iPod and my headphones, and leaned back in my seat, wondering about all the people below me. Was I possibly passing over anyone I knew below, one of my friendly-but-not-quite-friends from school, perhaps? It was strange to think that each of those tiny cars, each of those houses the size of a rice grain held a family or a couple or a person, each with their own life full of secrets and decisions and worries.
The music in my headphones sounded like a pulsing heartbeat, marking time for my thoughts. What would home be like, now that I’ d been away for months? Would my family still be the same? Would my dog remember me? What would I do over the summer? Would that job interview at the yoga place pan out? What about my friends from
high school? What about that boy I sometimes saw biking past the 14