Connecting Flight

He looks at me with hazel brown eyes.

I shoot him a quizzical gaze.

He looks away.

I had just gotten off a connecting flight from San Jose.

I’ve always disliked LAX – always busy, always renovating.

But I am left without a choice if I wanted to fly into Chicago tonight.

I must be looking tired. I thought, justifying his stare.

I notice the details.

Broad shoulders supported a grey cotton shirt.

A triathlete?

My thoughts zone in on the print of his shirt: Hill Sprint Race Triathlon.

Dark blue jeans and black sneakers with red soles.

He grips his camouflage duffel bag.

Military service?

I muse over possibilities.

Should I talk to him? Have we met somewhere?

Our eyes connect again.

He smiles.

I reciprocate.

The bus eases into a halt.

I double-check my gate – 46B.

I will barely make my flight.

In a quick, seemingly seamless motion, I sling my black laptop bag over one shoulder as I retract the handle of my carry-on as I get off.

I thank the bus driver before deboarding.

I hear him thank the same from behind me.

I don’t look back.

My mind fixates on a ring. He used it like a pendant on the silver necklace dangling loosely down his chest.

The same way my fianc√© wears “our” ring.

I can wonder. Maybe this attractive stranger will too.


©Nel 2014

11 January 2014 | Plane to Chicago

This is a work of fiction inspired by touch of reality. Moments are fleeting but even a brief look can transmit a hundred, perhaps a thousand words.

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