12C

12C

He was audibly drunk. Which is hard to do over the whir of jet engines and the mile-high white noise which would generally coax the passengers of row 12, seats A, B, and D into bleary-eyed thoughtlessness. But the occasional overhead ding or bustle of a cart would arouse a strange, malt-soaked grumble or wheeze from the cavernous mouth, which hung open like an empty barrel. His shirt was pressed, jeans fitted, and every other indication that this was a person who was not difficult to look at, save for his now-almost-midnight shadow, tussled hair, and stream of near-dried saliva connecting his jawline with a soft, blue collar. His eyes remained shut, short lashes topping the narrow nose and lean cheeks, which seemed to slightly tug at the corners of his mouth as if he were hiding a joke or some private mischief. And he wouldn’t budge.

            “Someone should wake him,” hissed 12A to B, “just look at him”. Her lipstick smacked violently as her small but enormously round frame rotated towards her neighbor. “Oh, I don’t much care to,” said the lanky, slow speaking man thirty years his senior, “I, I say we leave him be.”

            “To hell with him. I won’t be stuck against this window for six hours without a necessary break. I’m a lady for chrissake.”

            “Why don’t we all get some sleep an’ let him just come around.”

            “To hell with coming around. HELLO! Excuse me!?” 12A projected at him while waiving a pudgy hand across B and over the comatose face. There was no response.

            “I think he’s a deep sleeper, this one” B said, mostly to himself.

Stirring from the commotion, a pretty, suburban-looking pile of blankets, brown hair, and eyeshades turned into the aisle and squinted at the man and his disturbed adjacents.

            “What are you doing?” she queried A & B. “Why are you yelling?”

            “She might need to pee,” admitted B to D.

“I will not be stuck against this window for…”

“Here,” offered D, as she removed her polka dot neck pillow from around her shoulders, “I usually just hit my husband when he does this.”

With a quick thwoomph she hammered the man firmly on the chest and he jolted forward. The next sound he made was as surprising as it was booming and surely the rest of the plane could hear the laugh. He didn’t stop, but hysterically and with shortness of breath and closed eyes laughed as A, B, and D gazed on in confusion. Just as suddenly his guffaw came to a crashing halt and he sat up straight and opened his red, glassy eyes.

“My friends, I’m getting married”said the man in seat 12C, finally, in a clear and level voice. “But I haven’t met her.” He then rifled through his pocket and pulled out a creased photo of a beautiful woman, a ring, and receipt from “SFO Jewelers” with an address on the back. He then fell quickly and suddenly back to sleep.