Aerodynamics

The ground staff have just made their exit and I’m sure the last thing on your mind

is a whimsical pen at play. Down the aisle I see you, a tail of hair, an odd elbow

if I’m lucky. I remember when I saw you first, moments ago at the door, 

as I streamed in alongside an anxious flurry of veterans and virgins. 

You must have mouthed the customary ‘Good evening.’ 

or ‘Welcome aboard.’ or ‘How are you?’ It doesn’t matter.

I don’t remember. It wasn’t your words that made those split-seconds

worth another visit. Was it the cheeky half-grin accompanying them?

The cabin in-charge for the day, Nancy she calls herself, holds the receiver to her lips

as she rattles off a well-rehearsed safety briefing. I look up. A seat belt has never assumed such inviting proportions. As your hands make their way through oxygen mask and life-jacket, twice over, I wonder why I’d never paid attention

to these things before. We’re about to take off when you prance

around with a bag, frantically seeking a generous overhead bin.

It isn’t until you’ve tried at least seven that you find one offering just enough, above me.

I inhale. Your aroma is as strong as it is invigorating. An inaudible sigh escapes within.

I watch you and turn away, smiling without cause or concern. The flight is sprinkled

with cursory interaction and your unintentional brushing of my arm in your stride. 

The air is made pleasant by good air conditioning working in tandem with your gentle presence. Meanwhile, Nancy unconsciously wages a desperate war to seize

my attention. Another day, and she’d have had more than her share. So I twist,

and stretch, consider sleep, then shut the thought, and all the while your nimble feet

walk past mine at intervals so regular, it makes me think you’ve caught

a whiff of my devotion. I can only wish my words will mean something to you.

I haven’t really done this before. Then again, I haven’t really come across

someone quite as alluring at similar cruising altitudes.

Your charms are immense. You make me delight in a sandwich

I would have never picked off a menu. I observe many a pair of eyes

shadowing your every move, and as we head into another bout of turbulence,

I take my chance with telepathy.

Hello. I assume you must be content having my mind at your disposal since

the time I stepped into your aerial kingdom. It isn’t easy sitting where I sit,

watching you go about your routine while the desire to converse with you

eats me from within. But, I won’t act on this impulse. I won’t badger you

with the likes of ‘A bottle of water, please.’ and ‘Do you have today’s paper?’

I won’t even give you the opportunity to ask me to set my seat-back upright

or close my tray table. I won’t unbuckle my seat belt, even when the sign is off,

or bother to find out what the rest of your crew looks like. I’ll stay awake

and silence the urge to count sheep, no matter how drowsy the aerated beverage

I bought from you makes me. I won’t mull over my existence

before and after this journey. I won’t stare, I won’t swear. I’ll stay put in my seat,

much to the dismay of the passengers beside me, till I hear the aerobridge

is in place. I’ll smile often, laugh a little and savour the purple sky

illuminated by the cries of two infants, both blissfully unaware of this brief mention.

I’ll return your grin when I disembark. No words will be spoken.

You won’t know of this letter. But, that’s alright.

You’ve had me for over two hours and forty minutes.