This Way

Her eyes caught me. There is no travel I ever did since that I haven’t longed for them.

I jumped in the train to avoid the December cold. During the suffocating times of the pandemic, all the docile passengers of the train wore their mask. Myself included.

I found my place, on the aisle side, in one of the four seats around a table, patiently waiting for the passengers around to find their place. I hate these stationary minutes when the departure is never certain. There is a constant buzzing turmoil of worn out parents arguing and rushing their kids in the alley, retired couples who call each other and enjoin the other to verify that they are in the good coach, young people full of energy laughing and yelling. There is a racket of cumbersome luggages struggling to hold into the ridiculously minuscule spaces they are pushed in. Bags and suitcases always seem reluctant to be tossed in their compartment, and complain in creaking noises.

Trains are not meant to sit in departure stations like wrecks brought by the tide and stranded on the shore. They are made to slide at enormous speed on glistening rails, in a continuous and equalizing hissing.

I started to read to calm my nerves, knowing I’ll soon be disturbed by some fellow travellers who will inevitably occupy the three remaining seats.

Soon enough, a short lean old man quietly sat in front of me. We greeted each other with a nod.

A large black man in a business suit stopped next to me and made this small dance when you look at your ticket, then at the place numbers, in anticipation to the moment he would utter a few words indicating that his place is the one next to you, and you will have to stand up. Sometimes they don’t even pronounce any word and simply point at the seat.

The man sat down and promptly started to consult his mobile phone, looking absurdly small in his hand.

It would have been a surprise if the last seat had been left empty in this Christmas holiday season. So, sure enough, the last traveller arrived and sat down in a breeze.

I had a quick glimpse. And discover two sparkling blue eyes above her mask.

And suddenly, even the longest delay would have been bearable.

I turned my attention back to my book.

But I couldn’t help once or twice glancing at her speckled eyes.

She caught me. And smiled at me.

I obviously smiled back. Well, I did my best to express it with my look, and resumed my reading light-heartedly.

The train finally moved and gained speed. When it reached its cruise speed, it slowly became silent.

The large man on my left surrendered to the swinging movement of the train and fell asleep. Not that I observed him. But the sound was unmistakable: the man was snoring. But not with a quiet snore. Rather in such a loud cartoonesque manner that I looked around to ascertain it was really him, and not some engine malfunctioning somewhere.

She must have wondered the same, and our glances crossed. She expressed the same disbelief as mine in her eyes. We both immediately stifled a giggle.

Reading became an impossible task after that.

Mostly because we exchange more smiling looks after that.

But soon the train arrived at its destination: the airport.

I had plenty of time ahead of me before my flight. So I let the passengers in a hurry get off the train, before I finally put a foot on the platform. I quietly put on my coat and realized that she had done the same, and was standing just next to me, checking a plane ticket.

She was slightly taller than me.

I turned to her, and, although I felt my heart had stopped, I asked her:

“Which terminal is your flight?”

“Terminal 2”

“That’s mine too. I’m familiar with this airport. Would you mind me showing you the way?”

She leaned her head, leaned her eyes, and finally said:

“Sure. Why not?”

I felt my heart beating again.

I pointed to the escalator.

“This way”

And, of course, I stumbled on the first step and almost fell down. I’m sure that, at that moment, she considered how stupid she had been to accept my guidance and thought of an excuse to leave me.

We walked through the corridors, alleys, stairs, and treadmills until the gates.

We found out that our departure hall was the same.

Before the security, I asked her if she preferred to part and be on our way before our flights, or if she would like to go on chatting a bit more.

She suggested meeting up after the security and finding a place to sit.

We then started to learn more about each other.

We both were going back home after the Christmas holidays. She was on her way to Germany. I was heading to Central Europe.

She told me about her boring job as an accountant for a law firm. When I asked her if she liked what she was doing, she couldn’t imagine quitting her position, but couldn’t find the slightest excitement about it either.

I confessed to her that I was a nervous flyer, and I had to check the weather conditions, as it made me more calm. I did it for both of our flight paths. I explained to her the theory of air masses, their pressure and temperature. She found it funny that I was so aware of the harmlessness of turbulence and still fear them. I couldn’t find any answer to that. Neither then, neither now.

It seemed that she didn’t have any fear.

I couldn’t tell her that I would take a plane in a tempest, as long as her spectacular eyes would accompany me.

After a while, I felt hungry and proposed to her to join me for a quick bite.

We comically remembered then that we had a face under that mask. Hers was wonderfully symmetric and freckled.

I have the audacity to believe that she didn’t find mine ghastly, as she didn’t run away, and we went on chatting before my departure time got closer. She told me that her family was taking the same way as hers, but by car. And she didn’t feel like travelling with them.

I had the feeling that she was very lonely in her life.

The sky outside was darkening in a deep and rich blue as the night was approaching.

I told her I should join my gate.

Only then did we tell our names.

We looked at each other and stood up slowly. We said goodbye, and she softly wished me a calm and safe flight.