Airplanes

Delayed

I ran through the airport, desperate to get to my flight. My job had taken me to New York for almost two weeks now and I just wanted to go home. I quickly weaved my way through the crowd, trying to get to my gate.
As I neared the gate I was supposed to be at, I gradually stilled, checking to make sure I have everything. I have my carry-on, my ticket, my phone, everything. Perfect.
I let out a sigh of relief as I pick up the pace towards my gate again. All of a sudden, a woman's voice comes over the intercom.
"Attention. Flight 237 to Chicago has been delayed until 5:30 AM tomorrow due to major winter storm warnings in the area. We apologize for any inconvenience."
I stop dead in my tracks. That's my flight. "Shit," I mumble under my breath. Great. This is absolutely great. I force my way through the people towards the seats before I get stuck standing. I know that flight was booked.
I made it over just in time, it seems. As soon as I sit down, a multitude of people, all looking tired and distressed, filter over to the seats as well. They're all thinking like me; there's not really any use in going home, its midnight already.
I'm sitting on the end of the line of chairs so I don't get claustrophobic. It is only after I sit down that I realize that it's freezing cold as crap in this airport. Stupid New York weather. I really don't like it.
Someone sits next to me. I glance at them, and notice they have dark hair. They're glued to their phone.
They must've sensed someone staring at them because they look straight up into my eyes. We make eye contact for a split second before I break it off. Crap. That was awkward.
I cautiously raise my gaze towards them and they haven't looked away. We make eye contact once again, but this time it's less awkward. They send me a rather large smile, and I give a small one back.
He trys to speak, but I can't hear him very well over the wailing toddler behind us.
"What?" I say, loud enough for him to hear me.
He clears his throat, and speaks louder this time. "I said hi, I'm Pete." He looks at me after he says this, making sure I heard him.
I give a little nod. "Hello. I'm Patrick." He smiles again. He has a great smile.
He looks at me, seemingly concerned. "Are you cold?" he inquires.
"No, I'm okay," it was an obvious lie, i was shivering, for pete's sake (no pun intened). I just didn't want to bother him more than I had to.
"I have blankets, you know," he tells me, digging through a bag.
"Really, you don't have to-" he efficiently shuts me up by pulling out an overly large blanket and wrapping it around me. How could this thing fit in that bag? "Uh, thank you."
"It's really no problem." His phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his coat pocket again. I check my own phone to make sure no one has called or texted me. I've had it on silent for the past hour or so; I didn't want to get distracted.
"So where are you supposed to be heading?" He blurts out suddenly, startling me.
"Er, Chicago. It was delayed until 5:30 tomorrow." I say, with a grump in my tone. He nods. "I was headed back home for the holidays."
"Oh, really?" He inquires, interested in my dilemma. "Same for me. Do you have any family back home?"
I nod. "My parents and siblings, that's really it." He smiles, but it's sad. It doesn't entirely reach his eyes. "What about you?"
"Oh, no. I don't really have anyone to expect me." He looks... Torn down. With that look in his eyes, I want to help him.
Wait, what? I barely know this man, and I'm acting as if I could be like his savoir or something. He probably wants nothing to do with me; at least, nothing like that.
I realize that we've been sitting in silence for about a minute. That is not what I wanted to happen.
I'm trying to think of another conversation starter when I hear a low growl. It didn't sound like something from an animal; it was... creaky... Oh, awesome!
"Are you hungry?" I question him before the moment had passed me up once again.
"Yeah, a bit," he says, both arms wrapped around his stomach. "I'll be fine, though."
I pull out a container of Oreo Minis. He still doesn't look at me. "I have snacks."
He looks up, his eyes surprised and not surprisingly, starved. He looked like he could devour anything he was given. Why he didn't eat before he got here, I don't know.
I popped the lid off and offered the can to him. He took it and started eating fairly fast, I tried to slow him down to prevent a stomachache. I am such a mother, what the heck? I reach into my bag and dig out a second container that was already opened and begin eating those.
Somewhere in between shoveling tiny oreos into his mouth and chewing, Pete manages to choke out a "thank you so much, 'Trick." Trick, huh? I've never been called that. People usually say something along the lines of 'Pat' or 'Patty,' but never Trick. I like it. I let out a small laugh and smile down at my oroes. I abruptly remember my family. I need to call and tell them what's going on with the flight.
I pull out my phone and dial the number for my parents house phone. No one picks up, so I'm sent to voicemail.
"Hey guys," I say, making sure to enunciate so they can hear me; the noise still hasn't died down. "My flight was delayed so I'll be coming in later than expected. Sorry." Pete looks up at me, a strange look on his face. "I should be back around, 6:20, or so?" Pete gives me another look; he's thinking. "Uh, bye," I say as I end the call. I look to Pete in confusion. "What?"
He tilts his head a bit. "Why did you apologize?" That threw me off a bit. "You had no control over the weather or anything."
Oh boy, I really didn't want to have this conversation. "I know, I know," I tell him, thinking of the right thing to say. "It's like, a reflex or something. It just came out." Pete saves me the torture of "but there's nothing to be sorry about," thankfully. I guess he can tell that I know that there's no reason to apologize. I just. Did.
Pete rests his head on his hand and sighs, not of exasperation, but of exhaustion. I check the time. 12:28 AM. We've got a while before the weather stops being dumb and the plane is okay to take off.
"I have an idea!" Pete blurts out, making me jump again. He goes into his bag and pulls out a tiny burlap sack. What could possibly be in there that got him so riled up? He opens it and pulls out a circle that he can fit in the palm of his hand.
The circle is magnetic, holding eight small checker magnets. Four of them are blue, and four are red. The board itself is a light purple, with lines on it that separate it evenly into nine sections. I think a bit. What is this for? Why did he have it?
Pete looks at me, and at seeing that I'm bemused, decides to shed some light on the situation.
"It's a tic-tac-toe board," he explains. He watches as recognition crosses my face, and I smile. I used to love that game as a child. He grins back at me.