The Bends

Here's a good example of how my hopeless romantic mind works.

Recently I was on a flight. I'm a pro-flyer. I never like to talk to the people beside me. Sometimes I have imaginary ones in my head, but my mouth is never brave enough to actually open.

I board the plane late, I'm walking down the aisle, looking for my row. Everyone has those moments, when you see the people coming down the aisle and you hope they're either going to fill in that empty seat next to you or not. Until that seat is filled, everyone is a candidate and your anxiety peaks. I am usually a person you wish would sit next to you; the tiny, mousy cute girl. As I'm glancing between my ticket and the numbers, I catch the eye of a young guy sitting down. He's cute, and has an adorable smile on his face- almost as though life hasn't chewed him up and spat him back out yet. Wouldn't you know it, he's my seat buddy.

"Hi, I'm in the window. Sorry." I swing my backpack over my head into the bin. He, and the man sitting aisle, stand up for me to get in.

The adorable boy asks, "Would you like me to sit in the window seat?"

I glanced down for a barely millisecond and responded, "It really doesn't matter to me." I mumbled it, really, because my ticket was clenched between my teeth.

He does, I sit in the middle and I thank him. I get an overly enthusiastic "No, thank YOU." in return. I smile to myself, humored at his expense. If I had said that, I would be internally chastising myself right about now. I'm imagining his internal monologue.

I do my usual routine, pull out my book, my phone and my journal. I immediately delve into my book, a memoir, and don't look up for another 4.5 hours. Adorable boy next to me spent a lot of time staring out the window. He played a first person shooter game on a tablet for a bit, then stared back out the window.

I kept telling myself I should speak to him. Strike up a conversation - that's what adults do. How often do you sit next to someone mutually attractive on a plane? He probably wants me to say something. Hey, I might even get his number and we could hang out after we land.

But I didn't. I read while he watched the in-flight movie. He laughed out loud. God, that was actually really adorable. I finished my entire book right as the attendants were announcing our descent. I packed it away in my purse and silently waited for us to land.

I leaned back, trying to relieve my back pain. I found myself leaning towards adorable boy and away from middle age man next to me. I braced my weight on my hand, which was clamped around the arm rest. We avoided eye contact.

Then, we hit turbulence. It was pretty jostling, and adorable boys hand shot up and landed on top of mine on the armrest. This was so cliche- just like a goddamn romantic comedy. I'd like to say there was an electric shock when our skin touched. His palm was just clammy. He let go immediately and I chuckled. He was a nervous flyer. How cute.

"Sorry." he muttered.

"That's ok" I said. I moved my hand.

We started actually talking after that. He admitted he was nervous, we talked about recent plane crashes. We lived in the same town. He was in school. He was on his way to San Diego for a surfing competition.

"I know flying is supposed to be safe and everything," he said. "but y'know I still just feel uneasy."

"I get that. I had the same thing happen to me during my SCUBA diving class. I realized I didn't like the idea that I couldn't breathe and be stuck 50 feet under water if something went wrong."

"Oh, I don't SCUBA dive."

"Professional surfer and you don't SCUBA?"

"Naw."

I was having flashes of romantic comedies again. This guy had a personality I didn't know. Just like I had one he didn't - and I found myself wanting to tell him.

"I don't have it right now because I gave it to my fiancé. She just flew to Alaska." He was now talking about his iPod. And fiancé. A fiancé who has a reason to go to Alaska.

Well, there goes my buzz. Alaska is so much cooler than me.

We kept talking. He pulled out his medical marijuana card, commenting on how he was looking forward to "partying" when he got to San Diego. Which, by the way was a connecting flight, so he wasn't even going to leave the airport. Scratch those imaginary lunch date plans.

We bantered while we stood in the mass of people waiting to get off. He asked my name and told me his. His eyes were very pretty.

"Sorry about the hand thing earlier." He gestured to the arm rest.

"No, it's really fine. Funny, actually. I thought that kind of stuff only happened in movies."

"Yeah, I know. I couldn't believe that actually happened." Just the fact that he noticed as well, made my day. Maybe we were star-crossed soul mates.

We disembarked the plane together, and he made small talk up the tunnel as I power walked to the exit. I thought I had lost him through the crowd until I turned around and saw he was right behind me.

"Well, CrazyK, maybe our paths will meet again." And he kinda smirked.

Oh, come on. You weren't supposed to carry on the romantic comedy cliche.

 I smiled, replied with a coy "maybe" waved and headed downstairs. I immediately texted Blondie about him. And his fiancé. She asked me what he looked like. Of course.

"Cute. Kind of like a rough Zac Efron."


That's what it's like. Now I'm not trying to get all fucking "deep" on you and shit, but I am. Just bare with me.

Having a hopeless romantic brain like mine is like SCUBA diving. You're lured in with the promise of international travel, exploration and a really cool hobby. Slowly, you start descending, weighed down by iron baggage, before you even notice. Oh, this is nice, you think. Look, a seahorse. I fucking love seahorses. You see this vast ocean out in front of you, and you day dream about the things you will see, the things you will do. You get way too ahead of yourself.

Suddenly, you realize you're descending too fast. You're at 50 feet and you forgot to level off. And fuck - you forgot your oxygen tank. You were too busy thinking of the things you could do to realize the things you needed to do. Mayday, mayday. Abort. You start scrambling to get to the surface, cursing at yourself along the way. For a second you wonder if its possible to look sexy while drowning.

You get to the top, struggling for breath. You feel sick because you ascended too fast. That was such a stupid mistake. You swear you'll never do that again. And then you're on land, with the knowledge that you're safe now. 


Who the fuck thinks that's fun?


-CrazyK

(edit: Blondie says this post is too sappy. And you know what? It might be. But maybe that's why I'm the friggin' romantic, and shes the commitment-phobe.  Should I add the parts where I had brief thoughts of ravishing him in a hotel room as soon as I landed? Or the dark glimpse of "his fiance doesn't have to know"? I like to blame those thoughts on my year-long dry spell, and am secure in the knowledge that I would have never have done them anyway. And that there were fantasies of cuddling on couches watching movies while he laughed out loud, too. Ergo: my brain is weird. )