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.
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.
I muse over possibilities.
Should I talk to him? Have we met somewhere?
Our eyes connect again.
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 fiancé wears “our” ring.
I can wonder. Maybe this attractive stranger will too.
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.
Photo Credits: commons.wikimedia.org