Once Seated

"What seat are you in, Lana?”

“What?!” I stood there dumbfounded, realizing my new friends had seats, and were settling into them. “I didn’t know we had assigned seats!!” We had all been preoccupied chatting as we boarded this little hopper plane that would take us from Cairo to Luxor. The travel agency booked the tickets as part of the package, and we were each handed a ticket at the airport by our guide. I saw my name on mine, but the rest of it could have been in Egyptian for all I knew.

Flustered and blocking the aisle until I was shoved into a row, I began rustling through my backpack. Every ounce of self-preserving dignity was scavenged for while dumping its contents onto the seat where I now found myself.

“This poor guy”, I murmured, embarrassed that a man already seated besides me had received a backstage pass to my performance. He was an older, professional looking man, who unsuccessfully did his best to not stare at the train wreck unfolding besides him. My mind went from hoping my face wasn’t turning bright red into a spiraling realization that the whole plane was likely witnessing the show too. Awesome. Continuing to be slammed with luggage by each passerby, time seemingly standing still, I stumbled onto the ticket stub, “Finally!!! 9B.”

Anxiously I looked up to orient myself so I could run to the refuge of my assigned seat, out of the spotlight of shame. Across the aisle read 9C, 9D. Perplexed sensations filled my body as I looked up above where I stood, reading 9A, 9B? Processing dual emotions of shame and luck, I sheepishly return the items to my backpack and take a seat.

As the last few passengers boarded the plane, a man came forward from the back and tapped the poor guy next to me on the shoulder. A short exchange ensued to which the seated man next to me nodded and then proceeded to get up. Still wallowing in my own humiliation, I didn’t pay much attention to it.

A few minutes later I found myself with new company. He had an aura about him as well, but one I dismissed and credited to my general intrigue of foreign men. Someone mysterious from a culture I’ve never lived entices a fond curiosity I’ve always loved experiencing.

He settles into his seat and of course, he’s one of those guys. The typical male who believes the middle arm rest belongs to him. As he proceeded to take it from me, instead of doing my usual passive body cowering I decided to keep my arm there, even exerting back a little pressure. To my amusing surprise I found myself making a statement. Little did this stranger know of the many flights I’ve experienced before now. Years of shrinking my body by sucking in my shoulders and elbows as close as possible to my core, morphing into an unnatural state to accommodate others and was finally tired of doing so. Checkmate.

The uncharacteristic bold statement was well received, even admired. He held his own, but considerately adjusted to my push back meeting me in the middle. We comfortably sat in shared silence grounded in our non-verbal bond, forearm to forearm.

There was a kindness to this man. I hadn’t really looked prior but found he was also handsome with dark features, and similar in age. Although giddy, I felt secure enough in my surroundings to drift off into a snooze. The jet lag from the flight from the States was heavily setting in.

I awoke to him leaning forward and conversing with the men in the row ahead of us. Extending his arm out to the window he authoritatively spoke of the terrain passing below us, as if hosting guests or giving the knowledge of a tour. This time they spoke in Spanish which appeased me as it is a language I can understand and hold conversation in. A new fun layer to the existing interpretation of body language and intrigue of people watching had been added to my flight entertainment.

Sitting back into the comfort of his seat during a pause in the conversation he noticed that I had woken up. He reached into his bag and held out an individually wrapped chocolate to offer me. I had missed the snacks while taking my nap. With a gentle appreciative smile I waved my hand side to side gesturing, “No thank you.” I grabbed my Astrology book and notebook from the back seat pocket and began reading. The men struck up conversation again.

The view from the plane was quite exquisite, something your eyes may only be lucky enough to take in once in a lifetime, if that. As he leaned up again to engage with the row ahead of us, I took the opportunity to whip out my camera and snap some pics. I should be taking it all in too. As he went to lean back into his seat again he realized I was taking in the moment so curved his body forward to unobstruct my view. I waved my hand side to side again and smiled as if to say, “It’s ok I’m all finished”.

He sat back, and I nonchalantly blurted out, “Gracias". His excitement excited me, "Hablas Espanol?!” I chuckled and blushed, feeling the warmth in my cheekbones and replied in Spanish with my standard answer to that question, “Yes, yes, more or less, but just a little.”

Well, just a little was more than enough for both of us to work with. We began conversing in Spanish as best we could. Our lack of full fluency was no match for the shared unspoken desire to communicate with each other.

He asked me about my book and if I studied astrology, to which I shared my love for the subject and how it was largely a part of what brought me on this trip. He followed by asking if I was visiting the Dendera Temple and asked to borrow my notebook so he could write it down for me. I wasn’t sure if it was a part of my program but he continued to explain how it is exquisitely known for its detailed art, massive size, and intricacy of detailed highlights of the astrological wheel and zodiac signs. It sounded amazing, I should have known firmly if I was going there, but instead of trying to seek confirmation I found myself more enchanted by appreciating his insights and passion.

As we continue conversation, I share what I know of the exploration of Egypts and its Pyramids, referencing the National Geographic Documentary I recently watched about a new discovery of chambers beneath the Giza Plateau. My mind begins to wander back to the day dreams which enchanted me when I saw it on screen. Drifting back to an admiration for the man who was the one who was lowered into the tight spaces of the tombs to perform the fragile excavations, as well as the female assistant for the head archeologist who got to be there, assisting and witnessing the discovery of ancient Egyptian history.

Abruptly breaking my secret moment of nostalgia he decided to reveal his profession to me, and stated he was a well known Egyptian Archeologist. The unexpected twist of reality left me in delightful shock. I began blundering on with my admiration for those featured on the show, especially the man who had the strenuous task of pushing his body to the limits to crawl into the depths of the earth. The level of physical fitness paired with the delicacy of touch needed was remarkable to witness. He then shared that he was the man I spoke of. Lost for words, I began connecting all the dots. His size, his fitness, the authority he held with the other men, and his gentleness towards me.

He explained that he was traveling on our flight with a crew to film a second documentary in Luxor, and asked if I would like to see the book he wrote describing the discoveries he was showing his team earlier. “Of course, please do” I responded in awe. Not finding it in the bag beside him, he requested for the men ahead of us to get another bag for him which was stowed above us in the overhead compartment, to which they complied. His behavior demonstrated both his consideration for me to not have stood in the aisle while he retrieved it for himself, as well as hierarchical proof that he was exactly who he was stating himself to be.

Once the book was in hands, we found ourselves warmly pressed together, now shoulder to shoulder as he turned each page. Both of us were captivated in the moment of sharing passion and the appreciation of finding that in another. “Maybe this is it” I thought to myself, reflecting on what I would like to find in someone.

Announcements began that the plane was now descending. We ignored them, remaining engaged in our conversation and connection. When the plane landed in Luxor, and we deboarded together, still charmed in conversation. Our feet hit the tarmac to await the bus to the airport and suddenly my bright smile and blissful energy swung into a state of despair, “I forgot my carryon! I have to go back.”

Panic overcame my body, I could not leave my things on a foreign plane in a foreign country. All of us were instructed to get on the bus to head to the baggage claim but I could not without knowing if my possessions would be retrieved. He was ushered off with his group onto the bus, as was the group I had been traveling with.

I stood there alone on the tarmac like a fool waiting for the plane to be searched, creating another spectacle while I watched everyone else proceed to the airport. The bus closed its doors, and then drove off. I gazed through each of its tinted windows, forcing a smile through my embarrassment and waving goodbye to each one of them, knowing he was somewhere behind one of those windows looking back at me.