Non-Fiction Short Stories. Travel, oldsters, love, moments worthy of pause. Monday, Wednesday, Friday.
He is the man with dark, well-slicked hair and a perfectly pressed dress shirt–imposing even in the shuttle to the airplane. He helps a little old lady move her suitcase into the overhead bin with only one hand. Calm and assured, as if it were his private plane, he settles in.
Yet it is a sight to see, during take-off, how he grips the armrest in anxiety, the hair on his giant hand failing to hide how pale his knuckles become. As a child yells “Woooooo” in delight from the back of the plane, he looks away from the window and to the floor. He puffs out his cheeks as the airplane climbs, perhaps a louder exhale than he expects. He sits up straight, plants his feet. Then the old lady who accepted his help offers hers in return. Her arm stretches across the aisle to pat him sweetly on the wrist, as she trades humble smiles with her neighbor.
–Somewhere over Hungary