Sex on the Plane

Frank and I always take two aisle seats. That way, we both have extra room, but are close enough to hold hands in the event of turbulence. On the trip to Minneapolis for a Thanksgiving celebration with family, a sixtyish couple took the two seats to my left. Sitting at the window, the woman was ordinary in the extreme, blonde turning gray, glasses, unmemorable. The man, squeezed between us, could have been a football player past his prime. He was enormous, all body, close-cropped sandy hair fringing a red face. He looked like an overgrown frat boy. Let’s call him Chuck.

After take-off, I read my good-enough novel for a few minutes, then fell asleep, a blessing after a bad night in the airport hotel. When I woke up, Chuck was manspreading big time, his right knee encroaching on my space. When I glanced over at the offending knee, I saw that he was rubbing the inside of his thigh rhythmically and fast with his right hand, working it like a dishwasher in a diner trying to get the grease off a dirty griddle. His left hand was pressing at his crotch which was pink where the zipper had been partially pulled down. This was how Chuck passed the time crossing from the Eastern into the Central time zone.

I leaned across the aisle to get a second opinion from Frank who confirmed that I was not hallucinating and offered to change seats with me, but I was paralyzed. I didn’t want to confide in the flight attendant and I suddenly understood why sexual assault victims resist talking to the police. Going all Victorian, I felt compromised. Didn’t want to talk about it, wished it would go away. I just wanted to see my son at the baggage claim and be transported to a safe haven.

A lot of mashed potatoes and gravy later, we were on our way back east, in that space where your stomach is distended and your heart overflowing. All you lack is a night’s sleep in your own bed. Piling on to the eastbound 737, I was now sitting next to an eager college kid. Let’s call him Mark. In the hubbub of seating and bag-arranging, someone lost control of what appeared to be a very heavy carry-on directly above me. With the timing and reflexes of a major league shortstop, Mark lunged at the descending bag to keep it from falling on my head. The plane took off without further incident and Mark, earbuds installed, nodded out. During his nap, the flight attendant distributed what now passes for food, your choice of almonds or cookies kind of like ginger snaps. I took the cookies and, inexplicably, was given two packages. Frank later patiently explained that in the corporate calculus this was because the carry-on could have fallen on my head, resulting in possible litigation. Some time later, Mark woke up and asked the flight attendant for the snack he missed while he was sleeping. After a while, we both realized that he had been abandoned by Delta. No cookies were forthcoming. I gave him my extra snack, establishing a quiet bond with him that rose, yeasty, in my awareness and crowded out the memory of the westbound flasher. I arrived in Hartford sanguine and reassured.

Painting by Joan Giummo

Every day is a morality play, every encounter a reflection of the unexpected appearance of blessing breaking through a fog of grievance. Today, a very sick dear friend gave me one of her paintings. She asked me to choose from the large collection of oils and watercolors on the walls of her small house overlooking the Housatonic where I visit her to reminisce and plant kisses on her dry cheeks. I was the kid in the candy store. It was so difficult to pick one from among all the beautiful canvases. My friend’s art is a reflection of her adventurous spirit. I was torn between a landscape from a trip to Honduras, all jungly blues and greens, and a very small Matisse-like abstract in magenta, blue and yellow that she said was influenced by a piece of fabric. In the end, I chose the fabric pattern. It was only after I got home that I noticed she had written “Ethiopia ‘08” on the back.

You know what they say, you can only take with you what you’ve already given away.

Signed copies of my 2019 essay collection Twilight Time: Aging in Amazement are available directly from me. The book can also be ordered from Amazon or your local bookseller.