Lovesick

On the long flight to a foreign country, you wind up telling your seatmate much of your life story. Only it isn’t yours. You’ve always wanted to pretend to be somebody else, just for an hour or two, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Only now you find yourself falling for your seatmate, and you don’t know what to tell him/her. Write your conversation.

 

“…So yeah, I travel. Mom always says I spend one third of my life looking for things, one third packing, and then one third on planes. And by looking for things, she means, like, looking for, physical stuff, belongings…”

Gosh, he has dimples.

“Cuz I’m unorganized. Also… this is cheesy, but I do look for things metaphorically.”

Oh no…can’t quit now.

“I mean, being a journalist, long flights… you don’t just do that stuff for no reason. I have a bad habit of talking to strangers. Venezuela, Cambodia, South Sudan…hearing people’s voices.”

People’s voices? What am I even doing. All I know is the people’s voices around us are drowning out to a gentle hum. He has dimples. I have to keep this going- he looks genuinely into it… into me?

The butterflies in my stomach feel unusually intense. Is this really butterflies, or just plane sickness?

He has dimples. ..

This is my first time flying…

He’s staring at me fondly…

He says I’m turning pale. Green.

First time flying. 25-hour flight.

I have to tell him now.

“I lied, I work at MacDonalds.”

I had to grab his arm. January 20 2018, I barfed right onto my seatmate’s shirt.

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