Archive of Our Own

It was neither a number nor a meaningful pattern, but my mind clung to it all the same. It sounded so desperate and scared that the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention until I found the source.

Until I saw her — a young woman clearly on her own in a place where manners were the last thing on late travelers’ minds. Her elbows were tucked in tight to her chest so her hands could squeeze over her ears. The suitcase sitting next to her remained open for the taking, and I knew it would only be a matter of time before someone saw the open duck flailing in deep waters.

As I got closer, I was able to make out each grimace when someone brushed against her. The non-stop swiveling of her feet became more and more disjointed. Her words did, too.

“This isn’t what it’s supposed to be,” she whined, “This isn’t right, I’m not…”

She still hadn’t noticed me. I feared that the second she opened her eyes, she would bolt. Like a dazed hummingbird beating with broken wings.

“No, no, no…”

“Hey,” I tried to say gently.

It hadn’t worked. Her hand closest to me left her ear, swinging aimlessly in my direction with a shout and an ever-so-firm, “No!”

My heart broke at the sight of red rimmed eyes and quivering lips. I wondered how long she’d prepared for this trip just to be caught off guard at the very last second.

I saw myself in her, too. I vividly remembered that first flight from Las Vegas to Virginia. I remembered watching the only home I’d ever really know fade off in the distance. Haunted by the knowledge that I was hurtling through the air in a box filled with strangers on something that we’d only just discovered, really.

“Hey, it’s alright,” I reassured her with a hand close enough to draw her attention to it, but not daring to touch her. She watched as it hovered, and then turned her attention back to the ticket she held in trembling hands.

“Are you lost?” I asked. She was eager to give an answer.

“No, no I’m where I’m supposed to be,” she started with the frustration quickly filling her eyes in the form of tears. Each syllable off her tongue made the lip beneath it tremble until she was a blubbering mess. “But they’re— they changed it, and it’s not my fault, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to be now, and no one told me how I’m supposed to—”

Hungry lungs caught up to her. She choked on spit and tears now steadily flowing down her face, but she remained steadfast in her belief.

“I’m not lost,” she said again, “They’re wrong.”

Just as she’d started to calm down after the catharsis, her anxiety reared its ugly head once more. Her wrists craned in what was an obvious attempt to stop herself from doing something less savory in such a public space. Instead of hitting, she pressed the backs hard against her cheeks and tried to count her breaths.

When she was back to normal breathing, I felt compelled to tell her, “You’re right. It’s not your fault.”

Although it made a few more tears fall, I noticed the hint of a smile tug at the corner of her lip. And that was enough for me for now. Moving my hands from her vicinity, I reached for her bag instead. I brought the wheels between us in the hope of protecting it and offering her an anchor. She didn’t take it, though. Just stared at my hands while she chewed on her own.

“Is anyone here with you?”

I was afraid of the answer. I had reason to be, too. The second she figured out why I’d asked was the same second that she started to wail. She yelled into her palms and curled in on herself to the point that she almost collapsed onto the floor.

I begged her to forgive me for needing to catch her. Thankfully, she did not hit me. She didn’t try to run, or really do much at all. She just leaned into me the same as she probably would have done to the floor. But I was not such an unforgiving surface. My arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly and hoping to feel her muscles start to relax.

“It’s okay! You don’t need to cry,” I said just loud enough for her to hear.

Whether she had or not, her answer would have been the same. Sobbing against my chest, she cried, “You think I’m stupid!”

The words felt like a knife in my chest. The pain, the poison laced through every syllable was mind numbing in its intensity. I could feel myself fading into the familiar black hole of self-loathing even from just remembering those moments where I’d doubted my own capability.

I didn’t try to make her look at me. I just held her tighter and hoped that she would be able to feel the truth through the vibrations of my throat against her cheek.

“No, I don’t think that at all.”

If she’d believed me, or even heard me at all, she hadn’t made it too terribly obvious. But she did quiet down, ever-so-slightly. Her muscles fell, little by little until she was no longer shaking from the force behind her grip.

“Why not?” she said between sniffles.

I had to laugh. Both because it was such a silly question and because of my answer.

“Because I also hate airports.”

And to my surprise, she joined me in my laughter. Just a little nervous chuckle, but it was there. In all its glory and beauty, her laughter solidified itself into my faultless memory.

“They’re really awful,” she muttered with another half-hearted chuckle, “I really don’t like them.”

“Well, it’s okay.”

I would repeat it as many times as needed. While she started to calm herself again, I looked at the crumpled ticket in her hand. I couldn’t make out any of the numbers, but the timing and context clues (and a little bit of the romantic in me) had already assumed the answer to my next question.

“You’re on my flight, right?”

But of course, how was she meant to know what my flight was? Rather than stating the odd string of numbers and letters, she simply pulled away enough to hand me the paper. I took it, albeit a bit reluctantly considering it meant abandoning her.

I was happy to admit that she seemed alright again, though. All things considered.

Glancing down at the paper and smoothing it out between my fingers, I started to laugh again when I noticed the remarkably familiar seating information.

“Wow. We’re even seat buddies. Isn’t that funny?” I asked.

Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth went flat before contorting into a confused grimace before she drawled, “Not… really, no?”

I didn’t take offense to our differing sense of humor. If anything, the fact she’d failed to recognize the meaning behind the joke only made her more endearing. Again, I saw myself in her. I remembered the way it used to be when I read dozens of manuals on human behavior only to remain stumped when a novel turn of phrase found its way to me.

I hadn’t meant to stare. It was hard to keep track of time, but I knew the silence was going on for too long. She continued to chew on her nails but had calmed down enough to start smoothing out her clothes that had wrinkled from the contact. If she was embarrassed, she had no reason to be. I was telling the truth when I’d said that I sympathized with her frustration.

But when she glanced up at me and our eyes met for the briefest of seconds, I didn’t see fear nor embarrassment in them. A shyness, sure. But it was… soft. Demure. Something to be treasured, as I got the feeling it was something she didn’t express often.

Eager to learn more about that strange hummingbird of a woman, I cleared my throat and forced myself to look away lest I be considered rude instead of charming.

“Do you want me to show you how to get to the new gate?”

“Yes please,” she said before I’d even finished.

We both smiled, then. I placed a firm hand on her suitcase that had fallen to the side during our embrace.

“Is this all of your things?”

Unable to hold her own, she instead placed a much gentler hand on my bag slung over my shoulder. Her small hand clutched at the handle but didn’t try to lift it. She just held on tight and gave a confident nod. It looked good on her.

With the two of us together, it hadn’t taken long to find our gate. From there, I found many ways to distract her with a simple deck of overpriced cards from one of many airport shops and a stuffed animal with fur soft enough to deserve to touch her. I hadn’t bothered explaining how filthy it must have been because it made her too happy to even consider taking it away.

We talked about many things. About where we were coming from and where we were headed. About how she had planned for weeks — as I’d suspected — and was at least a little embarrassed we had to meet each other this way.

The hour-long delay flew by. They were calling our numbers before we knew it. Her absence, though brief, was dreaded. But I was happy to know that I would still have her attention for at least a couple hours.

Unfortunately, the second that I closed the overhead storage, I recognized the terror in her eyes. But instead of chewing at her nails, she bit on the soft ear offered by the stuffed animal she pressed hard against her face.

“Have you ever been on a plane before?” I asked when I finally took my seat beside her.

She nodded. That simple motion told me all I’d needed to know.

“You’re not a fan, huh?”

To her credit, she tried to smile. Her lips curved just enough to be noticed before they fell and began to quiver with slow but heavy breaths. She tried to wipe away tears that hadn’t fallen yet, but I could tell the loss of her grip on the seat was just as hard for her.

And then I had an idea. A dangerous proposition only because I knew her response would either break my heart or make me fall in love once and for all.

“Do you want to hold my hand?”

With my palm opened to the skies above us, I offered her whatever reprieve I could. She eyed it suspiciously, but with an undercurrent of fondness that made my heart stutter. Slowly, and with an abundance of caution, she placed her hand in mine.

She was the one to interlock our fingers and squeeze just as the engine began to rumble. That would have been enough for me. I was more than happy to hold her in that small way, and then to let her go when she was ready to fly off again with perfectly capable wings. But that sweet, downright saccharine creature wasn’t done yet.

She rested her head against my shoulder, and she sighed.

“I’m really glad that I met you,” she said in a voice almost too quiet to hear.

“Me too,” I answered, hoping that she would. And judging by the soft smile on her cheeks as the pressure mounted and we finally took flight, I’d like to think she did.