By: Jillian Otero

Dear 34B,
I thought that this was going to be a normal flight.
I got to the airport two hours early. Exactly on schedule.
I took my seat in 34A. By the window.
I went through all the motions. Cell phone turned off.
You were late. The last one on.
There was not room enough for all of our baggage to coexist. But you shoved it all in somehow.

Dear 34B,
I hope your family is doing well.
I loved all the pictures on your rule-breaking cell phone.
Your grandmother. In her Sunday best. Moments before the jello toppled.
Your nephew. Face covered with spaghetti. Three years old.
You at your senior prom. Wearing bright turquoise. And Converse. Embarrassing.
I told my mother about us. She was dying to know something about my life. You were harmless.

Dear 34B,
Thank you for waking me for dinner.
I didn’t mean to fall asleep on your shoulder. But I’m guessing that you didn’t mind.
I couldn’t tell if you were actually scared. When you grabbed my hand during the Exorcist.
I was scared. But not by the movie. By the possibilities.
I caught you sleeping later. Your head lolled over. I prodded you awake.
You smiled and leaned on me. I could barely breathe. I was scared to wake you.

Dear 34B,
I still don’t know if I should call you.
You gave me your number. I was caught up in the bliss of us.
You walked away. You had another flight. I did too.
I landed. My phone is in my hand.

“Hello, yes this is 34A. Is this 34B?”
. . .
“Okay. Thank you. Sorry to bother you. Goodbye.”

Dear 34B,
Safe travels.