We co-mingled at the magazine stand near the gate. I

 stood behind him in line while the clerk slowly refilled

the soda case. We smiled at each other once but it was

a washed-out smile, the type you use for people you’ll never

see again. He bought a magazine called "Big Trucks" or something

akin to that, a magazine I had never seen before, and then he

wandered off. I bought the Atlantic's Fiction 2009 edition.

I stood quietly near an empty gate eating a bruised

green apple, hoping my phone would ring with news.

I walked toward seat 23F next to the window and saw that of course

he was seated in 23D. Without acknowledging our earlier

exchange, he stood up to let me in. I mumbled a thanks. The empty

seat between us a needed barrier I was glad to see. We settled

in and he read about trucks and truck things. I read stories I wished

I had written about a wife returning from Iraq and a man who

grew chilies in New Mexico. Row 23 quiet and well-behaved,

unnoticeable, until I started to cry. I tried (please trust me, I tried)

to quash it but there would be no quashing and the tears fell

heartily, lush on my face. I turned up my headphones so as not to

hear the weeping and upset myself more. (I wished the same for him.)

Aching to stop, my hands wet from wiping and trying to push the tears

back in, at last I composed myself, tidied my face and began to read

again. I did not look at the man in 23D nor concede that he had

just witnessed a stranger’s public collapse. 

After we walked up into the airport, I approached

a coffee shop, my eyes still meek and my posture reticent.

I heard someone say, "Excuse me." Of course it was him, Mr. Big Trucks

from 23D. His eyes were a shiny blue, but muted with flecks of gray.

"Are you all right?" he asked, gently. I looked at him, a man with whom

I likely have little in common, this man who watched a stranger

cry. His merciful voice showed me our shared human compassion,

our unknown pain, our heart’s holes. “Yes,” I said, my eyes intent on his.

“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

Our mutual smiles, this time, carried some weight.