My daughter, Marianne, had called twice that morning.
“Mom, you’re sure you’ve got everything?”
“Marianne, I’m 61, not six.”
We’d traveled together for 34 years.
She laughed.
Before takeoff, I looked at the photograph she’d sent of baby Rose.
My granddaughter was asleep with one fist tucked beside her cheek.
I couldn’t wait to hold her.
***
My pleasant flight lasted about 20 minutes.
Josh’s knee first pressed against mine shortly after takeoff.
I couldn’t wait to hold her.
I shifted toward the window, assuming he hadn’t noticed.
His leg followed.
“Excuse me. Could you move your knee a little?”
He glanced down.
Then he laughed.
“Lady, look at you. You’re tiny. You don’t need all that space.”
I shifted toward the window.
I thought he was joking.
He wasn’t.
“Well, I paid for the whole seat.
He moved his knee back an inch.
Thirty seconds later, it returned.
I opened my book, hoping he’d settle down.
Thirty seconds later, it returned.
Instead, Josh claimed the shared armrest, draped his jacket over the divider, and stretched one foot into my legroom.
Every time he moved, his thigh pressed harder against mine.
I tapped his arm.
“Could you move your foot, please?”
He removed one headphone.
His thigh pressed harder against mine.
“I’m six-three. Where exactly do you expect my legs to go?”
“Into the space you paid for.”
He smirked.
“If you’re not using the space, what’s the problem?”
“I am using it, Josh.”
He shook his head and put his headphones back on.
“I am using it, Josh.”
Apparently, that settled the matter.
I tried crossing my ankles, but his shoe was in the way. When I tucked my feet closer together, my hip began aching.
I folded my sweater and placed it beside me for support.
That helped briefly.
“Lord, help me,” I muttered.
That helped briefly.