Flying the Very Friendly Skies
Alt title: Main Character Energy Ahead
Note 1: This is a true story from the Stone Age 2012.
Note 2: An audio recording of this essay will be available to paid subscribers soon.
I really enjoy flying solo, especially on a long flight. I get to do everything my way. Not to mention, rules kind of go out the window at airports. You can just throw caution to the wind, balls to the wall, go rogue. Want chicken wings and a beer at 9AM? Have at it! Feel like a massage while you wait to find out what gate you’re at? Hell, go big and get a pedicure! The airport is your oyster. From TSA Pre to landing, I really cherish my alone time when it comes to air travel. And when I’m traveling home after a job, like I was right now, I worship it. I’d just wrapped a shoot where I’d interviewed a man who witnessed the Rendlesham Forest incident of 1980 for the show I was working on, Unsealed: Conspiracy Files. This show had a sibling called Unsealed: Alien Files. (Sometimes/many times, I can’t believe I get paid to make TV of a certain nature. This was one of those times. Also, I’ve heard you can catch reruns on Tubi.)
Which is why, when a guy started chatting me up before the flight attendant even got to the safety demonstration, I took a deep breath and thought to myself, Fuck. This was before AirPods were a thing and, seeing as I’d barely sat down in my seat, I hadn’t gotten around to putting those airline-provided headphones in my ears just yet. Nor had I cracked open my book or faked a call. With zero excuses, I felt socially naked. I had no choice but to reply, so I did, without looking up. I had to move into my seat, get all my ducks in a row just so. This was my home for the next few hours and I needed to be comfortable. This meant that I had to fit the following items into the little netting under my tray table, in this order: Water bottle, actual book, Sudoku book, magazine, snack 1, snack 2. I don’t remember what this guy said, but I do remember his accent: Either Australian or Kiwi, which I never get right, so I didn’t bother guessing. I was by myself! This was my time! Take a hint! All I could do was hope and pray that the travel gods were on my side and didn’t seat us together on our connection. Or maybe he wasn’t going to LA? I prayed.
Then I looked up. And I realized this Aussie Kiwi was a) adorable and b) named Adam.1
I turned my mood around faster than you can say Cybil and we got to chatting. We talked for the entire length of the flight. I learned Adam was 2 years older than me, from Australia, coming back from a whirlwind trip around America and had a less than 24-hour layover in LA before beginning the long journey home. His parents worked in the garment industry in Bali and he planned on taking over the family business one day. Once we started our descent, Adam asked me where I was seated on our connecting flight. “Maybe we could…check to see if one of us could swap seats so we can sit together again?” he sheepishly asked me. We landed and, after quickly picking my jaw up off the floor from how tall he was, made a beeline to the check-in counter, where the agent took one look at us and could tell that this was one hell of a meet-cute and seated us together. We had some time to kill, so we grabbed a bite (our second date?) and kept talking. We boarded our connection and talked some more. This only happened in movies, at least I thought it did, only in the movie version of this I’d be coming back from shooting an interview with Chris Hemsworth instead of a man old enough to be my grandpa who swears he saw a UFO crash in the middle of a forest. I’d also be wearing The Jennifer Aniston – you know…boyfriend jeans, brown belt, white tee, hair pin straight – instead of the ratty yoga pants and baggy sweatshirt I called my plane outfit. If Adam was interested in me in this? I was pretty sure he’d have proposed to me in my dream outfit.
Despite the endless gabbing across two flights and an airport lunch, I was still waiting for him to ask me what I was doing later. And with only 20 minutes until landing, we were running out of time. I had made a pact with myself that I wasn’t going to be the one to initiate. After all, Adam was the one who shot his shot in the first place. Land the plane, sir! (See what I did there?)
We hit the ground, and I was starting to make peace with the fact that this was the end of the road (sky?) for us. I gathered all my things and was putting them in their proper places in my backpack when my prayers were answered. “So do you think you might be able to show me around LA tonight?” We exchanged numbers and deboarded.
I offered to give him a ride to his hotel since I’d parked my car at the airport and told him I’d let him know where to meet me later. The second he shut the passenger door, I shot out a group text to a few of my friends.
Met hot guy on plane. Here for less than 24 hours. Let’s go out.
A few hours later, my friends met me at a dive bar, where I gave them the cliff notes on Adam. I had just hit on Bali when he walked in. My friend shot me a look that I was able to read immediately: You weren’t kidding!
Adam bought a round, got along well with everyone and I was kind of floored by the entire thing. I’d been dating my ass off and, seeing as I was still single, doing so unsuccessfully. Now here was this man who I was definitely interested in learning more about but wouldn’t get the chance. He was leaving the country first thing tomorrow morning and I was almost certain we’d never see each other again. As great as this whole thing was, it dawned on me then that it also kind of sucked. He hadn’t even kissed me and I was getting ahead of myself when there wasn’t anything to get ahead of in the first place.
My other friend pulled me aside. “Ali, Adam was telling me more about his family garment business…in BALI. This guy is loaded! Where did he come from?” I took a sip of my vodka soda. “Seat 12A?” I replied.
It was getting late and things started to die down. Since we were headed in the same direction, Adam and I split an Uber. This was our second mode of transportation in the last 8 hours and I was ready for him to make a move. God bless liquid courage, because he kissed me in the car and we made out the whole way back to my apartment.
I know what you’re wondering: We didn’t sleep together. Instead, we talked until the sun came up. Then we actually slept for about an hour before Adam headed back to his hotel to grab his things and return to LAX. We friended each other on Facebook, kissed goodbye and that was that.
Adam and I exchanged a few messages but of course, things fizzled shortly after. A few months later, I saw that he was dating a blonde girl from none other than…Los Angeles. Guess he had a type.
We chatted (on Facebook Messenger, what a time!) for the next 10 days, then it fizzled. My last message to him was, Have you heard the joke about the pencil? I don’t know what I’m referring to, but he never responded.
Five years later, I’d fly to Australia for my friend’s wedding, where I also explored the east coast for a few weeks. I’m pretty sure Adam was either no longer single or he flew off my radar, because we never saw each other again. And that’s the way it should’ve been, because that’s the way it worked out. We were merely layovers on one another’s journeys.
I just looked at Adam’s Facebook profile for the first time in 12 years. He’s living in Portugal with his wife (different blonde, this one from the Netherlands) and they’re parents to beautiful twin girls. It appears he flies often for work, and I can’t help but wonder if he ever thinks back to our encounter.
Sometimes, you just have to look up. Sometimes you also have to read this silly excerpt from our conversation the day after. (I don’t type in lowercase anymore, I was a different person back then.)
Name has been changed to protect the passenger.
LOVED this! So glad you looked up, wow!
12 A is the only answer that made sense. What a sweet encounter.