The best flight I've ever had

I’ve never been particularly confident or brave about approaching women. In fact, with pretty much any woman I’ve ever dated or been intimate with, I needed a clear sign that she was interested before I’d make any kind of approach. Usually, I’d need triple confirmation.

That’s what makes this story unique.

I was in my early 30s and had been home for a weekend; I was flying back to where I lived. It’s about a 2-hour flight; on Sunday nights, they are usually packed. I checked my boarding pass; I was in an aisle seat, 19D. I got there and sat down. Someone was sitting in the window seat, and the middle seat was vacant.

As I sat there, watching the stream of people board and make their way to their seats, I noticed a woman walking down the aisle. Perhaps the word noticed doesn’t fully convey the impact seeing her had on me. There are very few times in my life when I can articulate seeing a woman so radiant and breathtakingly beautiful that this single interaction has stayed with me for over 20 years.

She was tall, with an olive complexion, long brown hair, and a bone structure reserved exclusively for the Gods. She wore blue jeans and a cream-colored cotton button-up shirt. I could confidently describe her as one of the world's natural wonders.

I sat there, wondering how likely it was that she'd sit in the vacant seat beside me. With each step forward, my heart raced a little more. I prepared to stand and let her take the middle seat.

But then my heart sank. I watched her move into the row in front of me, place her bag under the seat, and sit down.  

My heart rate returned to normal. I was slightly annoyed, but I figured there was no way a mere mortal like me would ever be placed beside a woman like that, and I doubted I would have had the nerve to speak with her anyway.

As I returned to a much lower level of elation, a woman stopped beside my seat and said, “Excuse me.” I looked at her; I can’t describe what she looked like, because my memory from that flight only has room for one woman.  I looked at her and pointed to the middle seat. “Oh, are you in there?” I asked.

She held out her boarding pass and replied, “No, I think you’re in my seat.” I looked at the seat number on her boarding pass; it clearly read 20D. I’m sure I sounded a bit rude, but I responded, “No, this is 19D,” as I looked up to confirm the seat number above my head; I read 20D.

A wave of embarrassment hit me.  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I stammered, collecting my things and moving to the aisle so the lady could move the seat I’d just been occupying. Only as I moved to take the seat I was allocated did the full magnitude of what was happening hit me.

As I started to move into my seat of destiny, she looked at me and smiled. In that second, pure happiness swept through my body. That would be enough for me for three lifetimes. I buckled my seat belt and settled in for a flight where I would be unable to speak for the rest of the night.

But another downhill run came on this evening’s roller coaster when a man in the row in front of us turned around and spoke to her. He spoke as though they knew each other; he sounded a little annoyed. When he finished speaking, he turned back to the front of the plane and sat back down.

My investigative skills quickly ascertained that they were probably together. I knew it was too good to be true, so I turned to her and asked, “Are you guys together?” She nodded and, in a sweet, angelic voice, said, “Yeah.” If we weren’t going to be together, I resolved, no point in prolonging the agony. “Would you like me to swap seats with him?” the selfless hero in me asked. Surprisingly, she shook her head, gave me another one of those world’s greatest smiles, and said, “No”. I smiled back.

The flight attendants went through the safety briefing.  The plane taxied to the runway; before too long, we were in the air.

Now the next part of this story was an out-of-body experience. I don’t know what happened, how it happened, or where my confidence came from. Over the years, I’ve failed to find that kind of courage.

I turned to her and said, “So are you flying home?” It was as good a way to start a conversation as I could think. She nodded and said, “Yep, we’ve been up here for the weekend.”  She went on to tell me how she and her boyfriend had flown up for a mini break. For the next 25 to 30 minutes, we chatted non-stop. She asked what I did for a living, and I told her I was a police officer. We discussed work, families, and travel. She was smart and funny; we kept talking until the meal service came. 

Over dinner, I asked if she’d enjoyed the weekend; her reaction surprised me. “No, it’s been pretty terrible, actually.” She paused, and then, as she pointed to the seat in front, said, “he hasn’t been particularly nice to be around.” I nodded in agreement, thinking to myself that he had to be a complete moron to treat a woman like this poorly. She then followed up with, “But this flight has been really nice.” Her statement caught me off guard, and I felt my smile spread across my face.

After dinner, she reached under the seat and pulled a sketch pad from her bag. She opened it, and it was filled with pencil sketches of various scenes and people.  As I glanced at the pages, she caught me looking. I asked, “Did you draw these?” She confirmed that she did.

“Wow, you’re talented. I wish I could draw like that,” I commented.  Looking a little embarrassed, she responded, “Oh, thank you”. As she flipped through the pages and showed me more of her work, I caught a glimpse of a topless woman. I tried not to stare too long, but I recognized the facial features, and it was obviously a self-portrait. She turned the page to a sketch of Michelangelo’s David.

I looked at her again. Cheekily, I said, “All I can draw is an M, O, Q cat.” She looked back, puzzled. “What do you mean?” she asked. Clearly, our two schools of art didn't overlap. “You know, where you draw a cat using an M, an O, and a Q,” I explained. This didn’t make it any clearer for her.

I gestured to her notepad and asked, “Can I?” She nodded, and as she handed it to me, our hands touched briefly. It was like my body had received immediate administration of the most intoxicating drug on the planet.

I took her pad and pencil and began describing the process: “The M is its ears, the O is the head, and then the Q makes its body,” as I sketched the most rudimentary cat ever seen. I tilted the page toward her to show the finished product. Looking at my creation, she complimented me, “That’s very good.” We both chuckled.

Then, before I handed the pad and pencil back, I did one more out-of-character thing. Beneath the cat, I wrote my name and number. I figured I had nothing to lose; either I’d never see her again, or she’d break up with her boyfriend, think about the flight she shared with the nice guy, and call me.

She looked at my annotation and smiled.

We spoke a little more before landing, and as we got off the plane, I said, “Well, thanks for keeping me company on the flight.” She responded, “Thank you.” As the boyfriend in the row in front stood up, his expression suggested he was less than impressed with the flight.

Just before I walked out of the terminal, I saw her one more time, and she gave me a little wave and a smile. I left that airport walking on air.

Now, in a romantic tale, I’d tell you that she rang me a few weeks later, and we married. But this is the real world, and I never heard from her again.

I wonder if she is out there remembering the guy from the flight who drew her the MOQ cat. Or if the thought of me was erased from her memory, much like the poorly sketched attempt to win her over.

If you’re out there, no matter where my life has taken me, I still think about you from time to time. I hope you’re happy, and I still really appreciate the universe looking after me that night.

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