I hated flying. The confined space, the forced proximity to strangers. Today, it felt less like a mode of transport and more like a cage. Every jostle, every whispered word from the aisle, grated on my already raw nerves. My chest felt tight, a lead weight pressing down, a constant, sickening reminder of why I was here, hurtling across continents, leaving everything behind. I just wanted to disappear into the hum of the engines, to be swallowed by the silent, indifferent clouds.
He’d settled into the seat beside me with an almost aggressive cheerfulness. A man in his late fifties, smelling faintly of aftershave and something vaguely floral, like he’d been gifted a travel set he wasn’t quite sure how to use. Before we’d even reached cruising altitude, he’d already tried to strike up a conversation. Just put your headphones on, I told myself, he’ll get the hint. I slid them over my ears, volume up, gaze fixed stubbornly on the seatback screen, a generic rom-com playing silently.
It didn’t work. A tap on my arm. Gentle, at first. I pulled an ear cup back, forcing a semblance of politeness. “Rough weather, huh?” he beamed, gesturing vaguely out the window, though the sky was perfectly clear now. I forced a tight smile. “Seems fine.” I replaced the ear cup, hoping the message was clear.
An older man standing on a sidewalk | Source: Midjourney
Another tap. Firmer this time. “They say these new planes handle turbulence like a dream, though.” Please, just stop. I nodded, feigning engrossment in my movie, willing him to vanish. But he wasn’t deterred. He started talking about his grandkids, about his recent retirement cruise, about the price of gas. Every word was a tiny drill bit boring into my skull. I kept my responses minimal, my eyes glued forward, my body language screaming leave me alone. But he just didn’t get it. Or he didn’t care. This is it, I thought, this is my life. Always letting people in, always being too polite to say NO.
The knot in my stomach tightened, a cold, hard stone of dread. This wasn’t just about a chatty seatmate. This was a microcosm of my entire existence. My inability to draw a line, to say “enough,” to protect my own space, my own peace. It’s why I’m here now. It’s why everything fell apart. The shame washed over me, hot and bitter, like bile. I could feel my jaw clenching, my hands trembling slightly in my lap. Just say it. Just tell him you need quiet. You have every right. But the words felt lodged in my throat, heavy and unutterable. My voice, usually so steady, felt like a stranger’s, thin and reedy.
He leaned closer, his elbow nudging mine, his voice dropping conspiratorially as he started on a story about his medical history, detailing every ache and surgery. I could feel his breath on my cheek. MY GOD. My personal space was dissolving into his unsolicited narrative. I could smell the faint floral aftershave, stronger now. It was suffocating. I wanted to scream. I wanted to push him away, to make him understand that I was drowning. I wanted to just curl into a ball and disappear. Why was this so hard? Why was I so broken? A dry sob caught in my throat, unexpected and violent. I quickly coughed, hoping he didn’t notice, turning my face subtly towards the window, pretending to be distracted by a cloud formation. The reflection showed my pale, strained face, eyes wide with a desperate, unshed grief.
An older man sleeping in a hospital bed | Source: Midjourney
He paused, mercifully, perhaps noticing my sudden stillness. “You alright there, dear?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost genuinely concerned. He reached out a hand, hovering over my arm again, a gesture of unwanted comfort.
I nearly flinched away. Every fiber of my being screamed for him to stop, to remove his presence from my fractured world. But something in his voice, a flicker of genuine kindness, arrested me. It was too late, I knew. Too late for so many things. But maybe, just maybe, I could say something now. Something small, something to reclaim a tiny piece of myself.
I took a deep breath, the stale cabin air filling my lungs, metallic and cold. I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. His eyes were kind, creased at the corners. Not malicious, just… oblivious. Like so many people I’d encountered. Like him.
“I…” I started, my voice raspy, barely a whisper. “I’m just… having a hard time.”
He nodded slowly, withdrawing his hand, placing it back in his lap. “Rough flight, then. Well, we’ll be there soon enough.”
There. The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread. Soon enough. But was it soon enough for anything?
An upset man sitting in his bed | Source: Midjourney
The plane began its descent, the familiar ping of the seatbelt sign chiming through the cabin. The man beside me turned his attention to stowing his tray table. I watched the world outside blur into focus, fields and houses rushing up to meet us. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
I thought about the last time I’d been on a plane like this. A different continent, a different life. A different me. The one who still believed she could fix things, could save everyone. The one who didn’t know what an unforgiving bitch the world could be, how brutal the consequences of your weaknesses could be.
The man next to me cleared his throat. “So,” he said, adjusting his glasses, his voice almost a murmur now, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere. “What takes you all the way out here?”
My carefully constructed facade crumbled. I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping, tracing a hot path down my temple. The hum of the engines was a roar in my ears. The words, the ones I had swallowed for so long, the ones that had been choking me for weeks, finally broke free, raw and choked, a desperate confession.
“I’m going to the funeral,” I whispered, barely audible, the shame and agony a physical weight. “My son’s funeral.”
A cellphone on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
The man went utterly still. The air grew thick, silent around us. I didn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t.
“He… he was found a week ago,” I continued, the words tumbling out, unstoppable now, a torrent of pain. “Overdosed. They said it was accidental. But I know… I know it wasn’t. Not really.”
I opened my eyes, looking at nothing, seeing everything. The cold, sterile cabin. The man’s shocked, silent face, etched with a sudden, profound sorrow.
“I told him, over and over,” I confessed, my voice breaking on a dry sob, the tears now flowing freely. “Leave her. She’s toxic. She’s going to destroy you. But I never demanded it. I never drew a line. Never said, ‘If you stay with her, I can’t be part of this.’ I just… I just kept talking. Kept pleading. And he… he just kept going back.” My gaze flickered to the man next to me, then back to my trembling hands, which felt alien and useless.
“I was so afraid of losing him if I set that boundary. So afraid of pushing him away. So I let her in. I let her take him. I let her poison him with her emptiness and her demands and her chaos.”
The exterior of a house | Source: Midjourney
“And now,” I choked out, the full weight of it crashing down, an unbearable truth, “now I’ve lost him anyway.”
The plane touched down with a jolt, rattling through the cabin, the brakes groaning. A collective sigh went through the passengers, a soft murmur of relief. Another journey completed.
But for me, it was just the beginning. The beginning of a grief I knew I could never escape, because it was laced with a guilt so profound, it felt like it would eat me alive from the inside out.
I just wanted to set one boundary. Just one. But I couldn’t. And now… now there’s nothing left.
