Seat 11-C

The girl sitting across from me on the flight back to school somehow reminded me of a million things from back home. Her tight, determined lips instantly brought back memories of Noelle and the party. She had khakis on. This is important to me, but I’m not quite sure why. The thick, brown eyebrows brought back brief memories of the Meehan clan and Berea. Eyes may say a lot about a person’s soul, but eyebrows seem to me to express sexuality. There is something undeniably appealing about a pair of dark, drawn eyebrows. She had neatly cropped blondish-brown hair curling back to just touch the nape of her neck. She quickly and deliberately ate her complimentary peanuts, one by one slipping them in her mouth, briefly sucking then chewing and swallowing while poring over her text. From a brief glance, I was able to determine that she was studying epistomology, probably for a course. Perhaps she was in med school? I’ve forgotten what epistomology is, Stanford genius I am. She gives a swig at a container of mountain spring water and purses her eyes. Down goes the bottle, up goes the pen and she busily highlights line after line of text in shades of green – she is highlighting faster than I could possibly read. Her soft green shirt almost casually envelopes her, shielding her from the occasional turbulence. Her legs are crossed and she softly but resolutely pages through the binder. She is clearly quite intelligent. She wears a ring, solitary and golden, on the fourth finger of her right hand. I note a wider, more intricate band, also of gold, on the middle finger of her left hand. I wonder if she’s married. She looks to be 21 or possibly 22, but there is something simple and beautiful in her face that smacks of 16. That smacks of home. That smacks of things well-known and well loved. I have never met her, and yet I know her. I wish her well. She leaves.