I was seated in the very last row, in the Aisle Seat, right next to the restrooms. Lines of people formed all around me over and over throughout the flight, as passengers rotated turns to get up and pee or take a crap, inches from my head. Every time the toilet flushed, it sounded as if it was flushing inside of my eyeball. Seated next to me was a very young military wife and mother, all of maybe 24 years old. Next to her was a 6 year old boy, her son. She began striking up conversation with me, because we were both terrified of the bumpy takeoff, and shared a second or ten of bonding in our mutual fear of impending death upon crashing.

Our bonding time ended with the inevitable question that you always get from a stranger: Are you married? How I answer this question changes daily, depending on the situation, my mood, and what response I feel, at that moment, might cause me the least amount of pain and anguish. It’s a crapshoot though, because I rarely know or expect what people say to me, and therefore, I find myself with a dull ache in my side no matter how I approach this. For whatever reason, with this woman, I decided to tell her the truth. She is a military wife, after all. Maybe she understands a bit about life and unexpected death and compassion. WRONG! When I told her point blank that my husband died almost 2 years ago very suddenly of a massive heart attack, she didn’t even flinch, or offer up the ole’ I’m so sorry for your loss. Nope. Instead, she launched into an endless lecture that had me wishing I had a parachute to jump out of this plane and away from this offensive horseshit I was being forced to listen to:

“You’re not dating yet? Why not? I’d be so excited to meet people and go out! Oh you need to get yourself out there, girl. He ain’t comin’ back. I know some good clubs and places, I could hook you up with some hot guys. I’m serious. Gimme your number. You are lucky I’m not your close friend, cuz I’d be gettin’ on your ass for not movin’ on and finding someone else already. I’m very blunt and I tell it like it is.” 

I felt like saying: “You’re also an asshole”, but I was stuck on a 6-hour flight next to this clueless dummy, and suddenly the smell of other people’s poop didn’t seem nearly as terrible as being wedged next to this person who showed zero compassion or understanding for what my life might be like. When we arrived back in New York and at Baggage Claim, we both waited by the carousel for our things. As I spotted my suitcase and struggled to lift it off of the belt; she spotted her husband, in uniform, and ran into his loving arms, just like in the movies. He picked up their son and twirled him around, and gave them both kisses and hugs. They had each other, and I had Akmad or Rashim, who would be showing up in a taxi-service soon, so I could pay them to get me home.