Breathe

A Fresh Start

When you think about it, airports are lovely. They're full of excitement and contentment and even hope. Excited people everywhere, ready for their much needed vacation to Hawaii. Content people everywhere too, glad they finally saved enough money to take that trip to California. Hopeful people, like me, are spotted in the crowd, also. We're full of hope to get away, to start fresh and the first step is as simple as boarding a plane.

Many people hate flying, they hate the small probability of the plane crashing. I wouldn't particularly mind if the plane crashed. Not to say I'm suicidal, but dying from a plane crash, or maybe a boat sinking, is an oddly refreshing way to go. You're surrounded by strangers who have the same fate as you and it's good to know you're not alone.

I took a deep breath and smiled briefly, as I handed my boarding pass to the flight attendant. He looked taken aback as we made eye contact and I silently prayed there was nothing in my teeth and that there was some other reason for his reaction of alarm. 20 minutes earlier, I had eaten a chocolate chip muffin, for breakfast, at a small Dunkin Donuts in the middle of the airport and was worried that some remained in my teeth.

"Is something wrong with my ticket?" I asked quietly.

The worker looked me in the eye and responded with a smirk, "No, it's just that, well, you're wearing a very nice color bra."

"Excuse me?" I scoffed, it was my turn to be taken aback. As I felt myself turn a deep shade of red, I plucked my ticket right out of the overly confident boy's hand and marched through the gate, down the tunnel, to the plane.

I quickly looked down at myself, and realized what the boy was talking about. You could see my hot pink bra right through my white t-shirt. It wasn't really a big deal except, some fashion editors would have me shot.

"I guess you could say today's lesson is: Don't get dressed before dawn." I wrote in my journal with a small smile, as I got comfortable in my seat. I searched my carry-on bag for a sweatshirt and pulled it on, to avoid any further stares or embarrassment.

I had the window seat and was quietly observing all the workers outside on the runway. They all wore bright colored construction vests and were focused on their jobs. I wonder if they liked what they did? Is this what they planned on doing for the rest of their lives? Directing airplanes and delivering cargo?

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted as a tall, broad man with a dark mustache, fedora hat and large framed sunglasses, sat down in the only seat next to me.

I smiled to myself knowingly. His mustache was faker than the 'Prada' bags vendors sold on the streets of New York City.

"Anything I might find amusing, too?" The stranger asked me light heartedly, noting my smile. He spoke softly and had a slightly raspy voice with a thick accent, British I suppose.

Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Do you know where I could buy a mustache like yours?"

He smiled, realizing I had figured out his facial hair was not real. "Actually yes, there's a shop in London I could give you the address to."

"That would be so kind of you." I teased.

Our conversation was cut short by a booming voice over the loud speaker; "Hello, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for choosing International Flights as your route of transportation today. We will be arriving in London, England at approximately 3 pm. Please fasten your seat belts as we prepare for take off."

Oh? London! How...far! Karly, my best friend, wasn't kidding when she said she bought me a ticket to somewhere a long way from our home state of New York. I decided to let her choose where I would start my new life because she was going to come live with me, later and I didn't mind where I went, as long as I got away. She made me promise not to look at the destination on my ticket and I didn't mind the elements of surprise and mysteriousness, so I kept my promise.

I glanced at the odd man sitting next to me, to distract my thoughts of home. He truly was dressed peculiarly and no older than 21.Tips of his brown hair peaked out from underneath his fedora. Clearly fedoras were a fashion statement I had yet to learn about. The stranger was hidden behind his large framed sunglasses, as if he didn't want to be seen. Clearly, he didn't want to be recognized to say the least, due to the attempt of his fake mustache. I wonder what his story was? Maybe he was a spy for the Soviet Union, he did have an accent after all? Or perhaps, he was hiding from a crazy ex-girlfriend that unfortunately, was on this very flight? Either way, he was certainly an intriguing character.

I decided to put ear phones in and watch movies, to make the flight go by faster. Mid-flight, after watching almost three movies on my laptop, I dozed off, only to be awoken a half an hour later by a cold and damp, substance. My eyes jerked open, as the rest of my body reacted to sudden coldness on my lap.

"I am so sorry. Here let me help you!" The stranger quickly flagged down a flight attendant and requested extra napkins.

"I can't believe you wasted this tasty, airplane orange juice on me! How kind!" I said sarcastically. The orange juice was now drying and became sticky all over my lap and the keyboard of my laptop.

"I'm so sorry-", He started.

"Yeah, well sorry isn't going to get orange juice pulp off my clothes or laptop." I interrupted.

"There was some turbulence and the next thing I knew, my juice was all over you! I feel terrible, please let me buy you a new laptop! And maybe some new pants?" He insisted, seeming embarrassed of his actions.

As mad as I was, I wasn't going to let a stranger pay for my unluckiness, or throw money around like it actually did grow on trees. I could take care of myself. "No, thank you. I'm fine. You've done enough for me already."

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats we will begin descendent in the next 5 minutes." The pilot's voice boomed overhead.

The flight attendant appeared with napkins and the stranger awkwardly attempted to pat my lap dry. I grabbed the napkins from him and continued to dab.

"Your boyfriend isn't going to be very happy when he welcomes you and you smell of oranges." He noted.

"Yeah, and your girlfriend isn't going to be very happy when she sees you have a black eye."

"I don't have a- oh, I get it now, that was a threat." He responded, his lips tugged at the corners. "So, you do have a boyfriend?" He asked, seeming curiously interested.

"No", I stated. "And if I did, it wouldn't be any of your business."

"Oh, right of course and just in case it is any of your business, I don't have a girlfriend." He replied with a wink.

Was he hitting on me?

That made no sense. I was covered in orange juice and was dressed like a homeless woman, wearing a pink hooded sweatshirt, with yoga pants, which by the way, have never actually been to yoga, and sneakers. There was nothing attractive about me, from my lazy outfit, to my knotted and messy brown hair. Not to mention, the mascara smudges under my eyes from sleeping and the lack of concealer on my face, certainly did not compare to the beautiful red headed, possible model, sitting in front of me.

The plane landed right on time and I gathered my stuff from the overhead as quickly as possible. Of course, the only thing that could make the flight even more terrible, was if I hit my "friend" in the face. Naturally, that's what happened. I knocked his fake mustache right off his upper lip and his sunglasses off his face, with my elbow. The only accessory that remained was his stupid hat, which was only slightly tipped.

"Okay, I know you're upset that I spilled juice all over you, but that's no excuse to start throwing punches." He joked.

Before I could respond with a sincere apology, a high pitched scream echoed right into my ears. "OHMYGOD IS THAT HARRY STYLES?!"