Pam liked airports. There were so many people to watch, some coming and some going, but everyone was heading somewhere. She liked to create stories for the people around her. She would picture tearful, but joyful, embraces as a son made it home to visit his mom for the first time in too long. She imagined those kids, bright-eyed as they got off the plane and saw palm trees for the first time. A college freshman leaving home for the first time to attend school and putting on a brave face, but nervously texting her parents until she boards.
She wondered what kind of stories people made up about her.
She wondered if they assumed the man walking by her side was her husband, or boyfriend. She bet nobody would guess they had just met and had only met because he literally ran into her.
And of all the people in the airport—all the places they come from and go to, this man she met just so happened to grow up in the same small Pennsylvania town she did. They swam in the same community pool, ate at the same restaurants, and now they just so happened to be stuck in the same airport.
He interrupted her train of thought. "Okay, before we eat, there is one thing I have to do."
"Okay…"
"I promised my niece I would bring her home a souvenir and I have a feeling all the free pens I got at the conference aren't going to cut it."
"Okay, but did you get any of those rubber wristbands? Frisbees? Tote bags?"
His eyes widened. "Wow, I really suck at getting free stuff."
"Yeah, you really dropped the ball," she shrugged.
"But not the stress ball. I got four of those."
Pam snickered and glanced to him as they walked, unable to hide her smile. It struck her in the bar earlier, the way they were able to so easily play off each other. She would make a joke and without skipping a beat, he'd enhance it. They would switch off with the harmony and melody of conversation, just like the jazz music her dad always used to listen to. None of it planned, but smooth and effortless regardless—like they had known each other for years.
"Anyway, I'm a sucker for a good airport gift shop," Jim continued. "You could help me pick something out. If you want to, that is."
It didn't take her long to agree and they turned into the nearest shop that had brightly colored shirts reading "Denver" in big, bold letters across the front. Pam maneuvered over to a tower of personalized key chains.
"What's your niece's name?" she asked.
He came up beside her, standing close enough that she could smell his cologne. Only it didn't exactly smell like cologne. It was something more familiar. But whatever it was, she could feel it causing her pulse to pick up. "Her name is Vanessa."
Pam turned the tower and ran her fingers across the lowest row of keychains. "Vallerie, Vincent, Victoria, Vivian…no Vanessa."
Jim picked up a keychain and furrowed his eyebrows. "How is there a Beatrice and not a Vanessa?"
"You could get her the Beatrice one. I'm sure she wouldn't notice."
He grinned (and she tried to ignore the fact that she had begun to crave seeing his smile) and turned the keychain over in his hand. "You're right. She's only 4 and can't read yet."
They laughed together as he put the keychain back and they continued looking for a gift. But she also kept looking at him. She knew she wasn't in a place in her life to be staring at this virtual stranger in the airport and wishing she knew everything about him, but no matter what she did, her eyes gravitated to him. She told herself it was innocent. They would go their separate ways and she would go back to her life in Scranton.
She should feel happier about that last part.
"What about this?" She heard Jim say. She looked over to see him holding up a small purple dinosaur wearing a Colorado Rockies jersey. "It's Dinger!"
"Wait, you know the mascot's name?"
"And you don't?" he feigned a surprised look. "But I think my brother would kill me for bringing in any sort of baseball related thing into his house that wasn't Phillies related. Moving on."
The whole time they were looking though overpriced knickknacks and stuffed animals, Pam couldn't help but envision Jim giving whatever they found to his niece. She barely knew him, but something told her he was an amazing uncle. She pictured him scooping up a little girl as she threw her tiny arms around his neck, a look of delight on her face. She bet he was the favorite.
Eventually she found a small stuffed bear with "Denver" stitched on the belly and Jim said it would be perfect. He placed the bear on the counter, but also put a shot glass next to it along with the smallest bottle of fabric softener she had ever seen.
Pam raised her eyebrows. "Does your niece have a drinking problem?"
"We really need a 12 step program for her." He smiled. "No, just a dumb thing I started collecting when I was younger and now can't help but buy one whenever I go somewhere."
"And the…" she pointed to the fabric softener.
"Oh, yeah. I'm out."
"So…you are going to buy it at an airport? That thing probably costs like $9," she laughed.
Jim just shrugged. "It's my favorite kind. Why it's in an airport gift shop, I don't know. But I'm not going to question it."
Suddenly she realized that was what she smelled on him earlier. Not cologne, but fabric softener. All these little revelations about him only made her want to know more of what constructed him. Luckily, she still had about two and a half hours to discover it.
***
The fabric softener (that was actually only $4.99) clinked against the shot glass as Jim put them in his messenger bag and they walked out of the gift shop. He put his hands in his pockets and stopped, turning toward Pam. "Where to now? You hungry?"
He hoped she wasn't ready to be done hanging out with him, but he half expected her to say she was actually going to head to her gate early, without him. Say that it was nice to meet him—wish him a safe flight. He probably shouldn't be flirting with a stranger anyway.
"Practically starving," she said with a wink, and he felt his shoulders relax.
"We can't have that, now can we? Pick a place and let's do it."
She squinted. "Hmmm…okay. Don't laugh. It's not two star Michelin McDonald's, but I really want—"
"Please say–"
"Shake Shack," they said simultaneously.
A wide smile spread across Pam's face. And that smile looked really good on her. (Not that he noticed. He definitely wasn't noticing or feeling or anticipating every smile she gave him.)
"Their burgers," she said.
"So good," he agreed.
He thought about offering to pull her suitcase or take her bag, but that felt like approaching a line he wasn't sure he should cross. They had a couple hours. They could have fun and that would be it. Harmless and innocent. Just two kids from Scranton stuck in an airport together and making the best of it.
They continued talking as they walked and as they stood in line, only pausing to give their orders. Then they picked up right where they left off when they sat down.
Jim was good with people. He was a salesman after all, and a pretty good one at that. But he had never in his life felt this comfortable talking to another person. There were no lulls—no breaks in the conversation. He wasn't scrambling to think of something to say. He had to remind himself multiple times that they had only met hours ago rather than years.
"So tell me," he said as he crumpled his napkin and put it on his tray. "What were all those papers I sent flying in the air this afternoon?"
Her cheeks turned a perfect shade of pink. "Just some sketches."
He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out the sketch he had picked up and scooted it across the table. "You missed one."
She picked it up and gave it a glance over before meeting his eyes again. "My friends. Michael and Holly and their new twins." She had answered the question he didn't even ask, as if she anticipated it. "They're the ones I've been staying with out here. The reason I visited, really."
She glanced back down at the paper and he detected something behind her eyes as she looked at her sketch. Not sadness, but perhaps something adjacent to that.
"It's really good," he offered, getting her to look at him again.
"Hmm?"
"The sketch. You're really talented."
"Oh," she waved him off. "No, these are just what happens when I need to give my hands something to do."
"Well, I think that picture is amazing. Here." He grabbed the Shake Shake receipt from off of Pam's tray and dug for a pen in his bag. "Give your hands something to do right now," he said, tapping the receipt.
Pam gave a playful sigh but gave into his request. She began scratching lines on the back of her receipt. As the lines began to come together, Jim saw exactly what she was sketching. It was a man and a woman sitting next to each other at a bar. He couldn't tell, but he was pretty sure that bar was in an airport. Perhaps in Colorado.
He watched as she lifted the pen, tilted her head to look at the sketch, and then scooted it back across the table to him. "Best I can do for slippery receipt paper and a crappy promotional pen," she smirked.
"Hey," he said with mock protest. "This pen is the best…" he looked at the side of it. "...The Paper Mill has to offer."
"Well, their pens suck."
Jim took the receipt and tucked it carefully in his wallet. "I guess I'll just have to take it from the professional."
"Don't you sell office supplies?"
"Not pens!"
"Fair enough," she smiled.
Jim checked his watch. There was only about an hour before Pam's flight and he felt the time slipping through his fingers. He wasn't ready for this whirlwind friendship to end. In the hours they had spent together, neither of them had offered a last name, a phone number, an address, or anything of that kind. It felt like an unspoken agreement—no real specifics, just an afternoon as strangers. Only, they didn't exactly feel like strangers anymore.
She looked at him, noticing he was checking the time. "Hope you aren't sick of me," she said playfully.
That couldn't have been further from the truth. He shook his head. "Definitely not. What do you say we find one last view of these mountains before you have to board? I passed a good spot after I missed my flight earlier. Perfect view of the Rockies, and we might be able to catch the sunset."
She flashed a smile. "Lead the way."
***
Jim wasn't lying. Pam looked through the big windows between gates C23 and C24 and marveled at the perfect view of the snowcapped Colorado mountains. The storm had cleared, leaving the sky a clear bluish purple, swirling with gold as the sun began to set. She took a mental picture, hoping to paint it when she got home.
Jim leaned in closer and subtly pointed to a man sitting at the adjacent gate. "Okay, here's the game. Come up with a story for that guy."
Her favorite thing to do.
She shifted her body, and in doing so, inadvertently made the gap between them even smaller. But he didn't pull back.
"Oh, I already started. His name is Brad. He runs his own business. But nothing big, just a small 'Mom and Pop' kind of thing for…something."
"Garage door parts."
"Garage door parts," she chuckled. "And what brings him to Denver, Jim?"
"The garage doors, of course."
Pam let out a laugh and then quickly hid her mouth with her hand when "Brad" looked up.
Jim was also having a hard time concealing his smile. "No, no. He's actually here visiting his oldest daughter."
"Because her garage door broke."
He nodded. "Because her garage door broke, but really it had been a while since he had seen her. So instead of walking her through it over the phone, he flew out here to spend some time with her because he missed her. And her garage."
There was a sincerity and sweetness behind his words, and she caught herself as she nearly put her hand on his knee. That is not what this was.
"I like that," Pam said softly. "Way to go, Brad."
"What a guy."
They continued finding people to create stories for as the sun fell behind the mountains, until an alarm sounded on Pam's phone and her heart fell. It was time for her to leave.
"Well," she said, unsure of what else to say. This had easily been the best day she had had in a very long time.
"I guess you had better go," he said. But neither of them moved. "Maybe I'll randomly see you at Gerrity's Supermarket during my next trip to see my parents." He gave her a sad smile and she knew he was just as disappointed to be ending their day together as she was.
"Thank you, Jim," she said with as much sincerity as she could. "Today was…wonderful. Even you running into me," she winked.
"It was my pleasure. Happy to sweep you off your…" He cleared his throat. "Happy to run you over anytime."
She tried not to notice the shade of pink his ears had turned. He looked over to her. "Can I ask you something that you can say no to?"
She panicked internally. They had avoided giving away too much about themselves and it felt better for everyone if they kept it that way.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Can I…give you a hug?"
She smiled. Something about the way he asked made her feel like she was a teenager again. It was so sweet and innocent.
"Absolutely."
He let out a breath that was more like a laugh and stood up. She followed, stepping toward him. Initially she planned to give him a platonic hug—like one she would give an uncle. Something safe. But the way he looked at her. She couldn't help but snake her arms tightly around his neck, standing on her toes, pressing her cheek to his. After a millisecond of what she presumed was shock, she felt his hands slide around her back as he pulled her closer.
She honestly didn't want to let go. Her eyes fluttered shut as she tried to memorize the scent of fabric softener mingled with aftershave and the way his right hand migrated to the middle of her back. He turned his head and buried his face into her shoulder. "Have a good flight," he whispered.
She pulled back and put her hands on his shoulders. Why did she feel like she was holding back tears?
"You too," she smiled. She pulled the handle from her carry on and began walking to her gate, stealing one last glance behind her at Jim, his hand raised to wave goodbye.
There was a heaviness that sat in her chest as she boarded the plane—a sense of loss, which seemed absurd. But she couldn't deny it. Somehow, in only a matter of hours, Jim had put his stamp on her and she knew she would never—could never—forget today.
She sat down in her seat and checked her text messages after she realized she hadn't looked at her phone all day. She replied to some, ignored some, and went to put her phone back in her bag when she heard a now-familiar voice, albeit a little more out of breath than normal.
"So, uh, looks like you're not going to get rid of me that easily."
She found herself speechless. "Jim? What…"
He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Turns out I'm an idiot that can't read times on boarding passes correctly and this is my flight.'
"But you're…" she paused as Jim let another passenger slide past him in the aisle. "You're going to New York."
"Correct. With a stop in Philadelphia," he grinned. "I stay on the plane while you get off and then it continues to New York."
She didn't believe in fate, but this was definitely starting to get close.
"I definitely had to sprint to get to the gate on time, but I made it."
"Where is your seat?" she said, still a little dumbfounded.
He checked his ticket, looked up at the numbers above the seats, then pointed to the window seat in the row opposite the aisle from her. It was then realized she was holding onto hope that fate had taken it one step further and made it so they were sitting next to each other. It felt a little cruel that he would be so close, but not close enough to talk to him.
Jim finally realized there was a line forming behind him and took his seat, continually glancing over the aisle to Pam with a smile. They played this game of eye tag until they were 35,000 feet in the air and Pam had to use the bathroom.
She stood there, looking at herself in the tiny, hazy bathroom mirror. She looked the same. So how did she feel so different? She fixed her hair a little, wiped the smudged mascara from under her eyes, and headed back to her seat. She stopped halfway down the aisle when she saw the brown tousled hair in the seat next to hers. She suppressed a smile and continued forward.
"Sir," she said. "I believe you are in the wrong seat."
Jim looked up from the Sky Mall magazine and grinned. "I may have promised to buy a cocktail for the guy next to you if he switched me seats. Threw in my bag of complementary pretzels for good measure."
She beamed, not caring to hide it anymore, and slipped past him to her seat.
"Buckle up," he said. "We have a long flight ahead of us."
But somehow, it still didn't feel long enough for her.
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© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali
© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali