Two Days Later
Ihanded the woman at the gate my ticket and headed down the Jetway to the airplane that would take me back to LA. Seven o’clock in the morning felt like the middle of the night to me since I hadn’t adjusted to East Coast time. I cursed myself for not grabbing a decent cup of coffee and for not waiting to take a later flight. Maybe I would have been able to get a first-class seat on it.
Finally, I stepped onto the plane and shuffled to my row. To make matters worse, I was in a middle seat. Locating 14B, I shoved my bag in the overhead bin and said, “Excuse me,” to the slim grandmotherly woman already seated in the aisle seat.
“Of course,” she said, and smiled as she stood to let me through.
Unfortunately, the dude in 14A didn’t look as nice or as happy.
I couldn’t help but think of Charli and her initial reaction to sitting next to me. Quickly shoving thoughts of the mysterious attractive woman to the back of my mind, I wedged myself into the middle seat.
Of course, the fucking cowhand in the window seat piped up, wearing a smug look along with his tight jeans, flannel shirt, cowboy hat, and boots.
“We thought we were gonna get some skinny New Yorker here,” he drawled. “No such luck.”
I refused to hang my head in shame. I was a good person, as good as anyone. I’d always been stocky, and my mom’s cooking didn’t help. At that thought, I made a mental note to visit my parents in the nursing home.
Their being older than my friends’ parents didn’t help either. Mom and Dad didn’t do all the active stuff other parents did with their kids. Instead, we enjoyed family movie night with popcorn and candy. It’s probably why I went into the movie business like I did.
“You got it, my man. No such luck,” I said to the cowboy, keeping my tone light.
I was used to pricks like him. Been dealing with them since puberty, when some kids lost their baby fat and others didn’t. I did have a few years in college where I’d slimmed down due to playing a lot of ultimate Frisbee on the lawn with my roommates and hitting the weight room. But after graduation I moved out on my own, and frankly, I ate when I was bored or lonely.
And even when I wasn’t. The fact was, I enjoyed food. It reminded me of home.
I buckled up and pulled out my phone to check my messages.Look at that ... I don’t even need the seat-belt expander. So take that, asshole.
“What’d you do? Eat the island of Manhattan?” my seatmate said with a mean-spirited chuckle.
This asshole wasn’t going to let it go.
Neither was I.
“Excuse me, I have to grab something from my bag,” I said to the grandmother next to me, who unbuckled her seat belt and stood in the aisle with an embarrassed smile on her face as I grabbed my headphones and laptop.
What with the close quarters, I hadn’t planned on working, but this guy warranted my headphones. I squeezed back in my seat, Grandma sat back down, and Cowboy muttered another grumble. I opened my laptop on my lap, plugged in, and set about ignoring my flying partner.
For a second, I thought about making some changes to myself. I could go to Weight Watchers or some shit, but why? At home I had friends, women, and coworkers who didn’t dismiss me.
Only two people had done that recently. The second one, I couldn’t give two shits about. But the first one mattered. I’d gone and hurt her, although unintentionally, so maybe I deserved the tiny bit of shame Charli had made me feel when she first stepped on the plane.
It was exhilarating to watch her come alive in front of me, let go of her preconceived notions for a moment and talk to me like a real person, even sharing her inner thoughts with me. I’d wanted to reach out and brush back the small wisps of hair that had worked their way free from her bun and tell her to follow her dreams.
But I didn’t. Instead I’d gone and made a mess of it.
I felt a jab in my shoulder and looked toward the culprit, reluctantly pushing back one of my earphones so I could hear his nonsense.
“If you’re gonna sit there and watch that gay-love shit,” he growled out, “I’m getting off the plane.”
Confused for a second, I looked back to my screen. On it was a scene from an old movie I’d worked on ... two men having a tense romantic stare-down in a club. Mushroom jazz blared in the background as their eyes warred with each other. It had recently been nominated for an MTV award, so I was re-watching it.
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” was all I responded and went back to the screen.
I’d had enough of him.
Sadly, I didn’t get enough of Charli.
