I've decided I just need to suck it up and sit down and write some of this if it's ever going to happen. Between jet lag, work, finally getting to spend some time with my boy, and just overall exhaustion, I've been having a hard time getting motivated to sit down and write. I'll have to do it in chunks, so this story will probably be in several parts, and please don't feel the need to read unless you're interested, but here goes:
Ever since Debi called me a year ago to tell me she was engaged, I have been anticipating this trip. Promising one of your besties you'll do everything you can to make it to their wedding, especially when that wedding is slated to happen in a foreign country, is not a promise I make lightly. It was FANTASTIC when all the pieces fell perfectly into place, so I could actually afford to make the trip, my new job let me have the necessary time off, and the plan was working to do the things I wanted to do while in Europe (including adding a few new stamps to my passport--one I didn't already have!). I even had friends who wanted to travel with me. It was perfect. And even though I was trying not to think too much about it to avoid too much anticipation, I was SUPER excited. Excited about seeing Debi, excited about the wedding, excited about feeding my inner travel bug--just DANG EXCITED. But that being said...
Leaving on my trip was rough. I was SUPER looking forward to it, but there was a lot of crazy stuff going on at home. Erik's grandma was really, really sick, and we knew the end was coming. She and Erik were very close, so it was really tough on him, not to mention the fact that he wasn't feeling well himself. The days and weeks leading up to my leaving left me with a lot of mixed feelings, and mostly I felt terrible for leaving him. I had a hard time saying goodbye knowing he was struggling SO much, but he put me on the plane, and I headed out, promising to call from Atlanta.
Sitting next to someone on a plane is an art form. You have to define the limits of personal space with a perfect stranger in extremely close quarters, and if you know me, you know I have a big personal bubble when it comes to strangers...which is why I almost always choose a window seat! I sat next to the exact stereotype of the pro-Confederacy Southerner. He was probably in his mid-50s, with long salt-and-pepper hair, headphones, and a book.
As a side note: I think an airplane is one of the few places you can have conversations with total strangers, and it's not at all odd if you never find out their name. In fact, it's almost a requirement--maintain some anonymity. Don't disclose your name. Tell anything else you want, but don't mention your name. I talked to every single person who sat next to me on four different flights, and not once did I catch a name. Interesting. But I digress.
I settled into my seat, trying to figure out how I was going to manage to stay awake for the next 27 hours or so, when I was already running on an extremely depleted supply of sleep. I took out my new camera and took some photos of the sunrise to kill some time, but it was obviously not going to be a long enough distraction. We weren't far into the flight when I realized the plane had figured it out for me: I was FREEZING. Not the "Oh, I'm a bit chilly" kind of cold, but the miserable, uncomfortable, no-way-you're-ever-going-to-catch-a-few-winks kind of cold. I had my fleece on, with long sleeves underneath, plus a pillow between me and the side of the plane. It was not enough. I didn't say anything, but my seat mate must have figured it out. About an hour and a half into the flight, he looked at me. "You cold?" he said.
"Yeah, I'm freezing!"
"Do you want me to see if we can getcha a blanket?" The flight attendants were right in the middle of the their beverage service and seemed pretty busy. Me, being the extremely low-maintenance person I am, didn't want to bother them.
"Nah, that's okay. Thanks, though," I replied.
He thought about that for a second, put his tray up, and looked at me. "I got my coat right down here in my backpack. I could get it out for you. You could put it next to you, like a barrier." He looked at me helpfully.
"Um, okay, sure. Thanks." I replied. Continuing the stereotype, he pulled out a big, oversized, camo coat.
"Here ya go, miss."
"Thank you so much," I replied gratefully. I put the heavy coat between me and the wall. He was right...it did help to have a barrier.
"Heck, you can put it on if ya want to. I don't care," he said after a moment.
"Thanks," I replied again. "This is okay. It's really helping."
He put his headphones back on and went back to his book. About 20 minutes later he started digging around in his backpack again. After a few minutes, he handed me a package of 'Hot Hands' hand warmers. "Here. Read the directions on that thing and open it up for yourself." Having learned my lesson about gratefully accepting the kindness of strangers instead of graciously declining, I said, "Really? Thanks!" And I won't hesitate to tell you that I tried it in several places before I decided to slip it into my pant leg on my hip where my leg was freezing from being so near the side.
"Yeah, I used to always carry these around from my scuba diving days," he explained. "I knew there was a reason I was carrying these around." I smiled gratefully. "My wife likes to put them under her butt cheeks when we're riding our motorcycles."
Wow.
Slightly more able to handle the cold, I finally did manage to nap fitfully for probably a grand total of about 20 minutes before we began our descent into Atlanta. He offered me his other set of handwarmers for my next flight, which I politely declined, but thanked him profusely for his generosity. For the record, he was from Alabama. I never did find out his name.
No comments:
Post a Comment