You tell yourself that if the movie wasn't so bad (every flight you seem to catch has that same godforsaken absolutely ancient movie about a prostitute with a heart of gold), and if the wine hadn't already loosened your tie and your muscles, and if your assistant had sent you the files to that account you're flying to Chicago to handle in the first place (honestly, if she didn't look so good in those heels that you know she wears just to tease you, why did you marry your assistant again?) then you wouldn't have found yourself people-watching.
And you wouldn't have seen them. They're right across from you though so, maybe, you wouldn't have kept looking. But then maybe you would have, you tell yourself, because they're something you don't see everyday. Or you do, but not so genuine.
He, the guy, let's call him, oh, Jack. Jack's taken up all the space, made it impossible for another body to come down on that middle seat between them. And she, hm, she looks like Linda with the way her dimple sneaks out and catches Jack (and you) off guard, she sits in the aisle seat.
You can't hear their conversation but their faces...they are something golden. They're in their own world. But you wonder if they realize what story they're telling everyone else. Jack's eyes keep skipping all over Linda's face, catching frequently on her eyes and her mouth. Then Linda, she is that seductive dimple and fingers that keep brushing a rebellious strand behind her ear.
You wonder if this is their beginning. You wonder if there will be an end and maybe it's the wine but you want to get up and tell them good luck. And they'd probably look at you like you're crazy and fuck, maybe, just maybe you are. But you suddenly want them to have all the chances in the world.
It's the wine. It's definitely the wine. Regardless, you still go as motionless as Linda does when Jack reaches out to ensnare those sweetly nervous fingers of hers.
And you turn away, respectfully. With the taste of red liquor on your tongue (it really was a good year, where is that flight attendant?), you fumble out your phone and text that assistant of yours, who wears sexy heels and gave you a chance (well a second one because she still teases you for that godawful sweater vest....)
Created: Mar 27, 2011Scarlet Document Media