Four hours into my flight, the man beside me finally went to the restroom. By the time he returned, I’d done something he clearly hadn’t expected.
He stopped in the aisle, looked at his seat, and turned bright red.
“What the hell did you do?!”
Several passengers looked up.
“What the hell did you do?!”
***
At 61 and five-foot-two, I’d spent most of my life avoiding arguments. But after four hours pressed against the window, I’d finally done something about it.
The strange thing was, we’d started the flight on perfectly friendly terms.
“Looks like we’re neighbors,” the man had said while boarding.
I moved my handbag off the middle seat.
“For the next six hours, anyway.”
“Looks like we’re neighbors.”
He smiled. “I’m Josh.”
“Celeste.”
He was broad-shouldered, perhaps 50, and wore an expensive-looking quarter-zip sweater with polished loafers.
“You got the good seat,” he said, nodding toward my window.
“My daughter insisted. She thought I’d enjoy looking at the clouds.”
“She’s probably right.”
“You got the good seat.”
The older gentleman in the aisle seat introduced himself as Henry. He had a paperback tucked under his arm.
“Vacation?” Henry asked.
“Something better. I’m meeting my first granddaughter.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you. I’ve already seen enough photographs to fill an album.”
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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