Page 4 of A Dead Man's B-Side
He’d said something else, but I’d walked too far to catch it, turning the corner as the sound of the plane’s engines muffled anything else said. I shivered at the crack between the jetway and the plane that let in the chilly night air, quickly embarking to avoid the regret of having not stolen a thicker jacket as well.
It was a bad habit, but the only one I’d kept out of necessity. That wasn’t entirely true, though it was the only one that I found to be the most useful.
Of all the trinkets I’d stolen out of self-indulgence, I pawned most of them to get my hands on items I couldn’t exactly rely on my kleptomania for. Though, the gold-accented pen and small Laliquesculpture were still in my possession. I was glad I’d made it this far without running out of my collection. However, something told me I’d be holding onto those last two for a little while longer.
Nothing to spend on when my full year was all-expenses-paid.
The man standing at the door only asked for my boarding pass—not fake—and directed me to my place.
A first-class window seat.
It didn’t take long to place my bag, unfitting amongst the pricey luggage, in the overhead bin and sit down in an exhausted huff. I’d never left the country, let alone flown on a plane, but the events of today left me feeling indifferent to the nerve-sparking restlessness I thought would be rushing through me.
Truthfully, I didn’t trust that I was getting off scot-free. A part of me was waiting for them to rush onto the plane and haul me off with a pair of handcuffs. Only when the flight began its rumble down the runway did my shoulders remember the tension they’d been carrying and drop.
There was a serious-looking man in the aisle in front of me, dressed in a perfectly fitted suit, busy working on files already out on the tray in front of him when a flight attendant with a pretty smile walked over and asked him to put them away for takeoff.
I watched as he scoffed and raised his eyebrows in disbelief at her words before shoving the tray away with much more force than needed.
I looked away.
A happy couple sat in the middle aisle, a few rows down, onlythe back of their heads visible from where I sat. There was an air of quiet wealth surrounding them, their mannerism polite as they asked for bottled water or looked at the pamphlets in front of them.
An older woman with a French twist and a serene look sat on the other side of the plane, fussing over her little dog in the seat next to her.
The rest of the plane seemed packed when I’d entered, but this small compartment resembled a ghost town.
I everted my eyes and chose to let my focus drift to what was happening outside.
I felt an epiphany form as I watched the little figures rushing to this gate or that inside the airport, and all the planes departing or having just arrived, a sudden surge of existential reflection. That all these people have lives of their own with stories of their destinations.
It made me wish I’d taken up travelling, had the circumstances ever allowed it.
“Oh. Looks like we’ll be neighbours for the next ten hours.”
A deep voice sounded to my side, and when I turned, expecting to find a conversation between two people, I found a young man speaking to me. Well, he looked to be in his thirties and in a three-piece suit, but that wasn’t important information to me. What was a priority, however, was the fact that he was talking to me. His blue eyes pierced into my soul, unsuccessfully concealed by a kind smile.
I didn’t like people talking to me very much, and he looked like a talker. I’d have preferred he take his place in silence and focus on his own affairs rather than bothering others.
“Seems so.” My eyes analytically roamed over him, and I was sure he was taking offence to what looked like a size-up. He dropped into his seat with an audible sigh next to me that, for one reason, bothered me. I was acutely grateful for the small space separating us. Turning back to face forward, I considered the basket of snacks in the side compartment. My stomach growled at the prospect of food, no matter how small, in my belly.
The man chuckled. “Someone’s hungry. Didn’t catch–”
“I like flying in silence.” I meant to be blunt, hoping he’d follow the social cues I’d left like crumbs for a dog. He blinked a few times after falling short on his words, but it wasn’t to lubricate his eyes, as the corners pinched.
He was silent only for a few moments, perhaps stunned, before turning his big body to face me. It was clear he worked out, even from over the layers of clothing, I could spy his muscles. “I’m Evan.”
Boring name, but perhaps I wasn’t one to talk.
I looked at the hand he’d held out for a few moments that was sure to make any situation awkward before choosing not to make any more enemies for today. He didn’t seem worth the frustration. “Alexandr.”
“Ah, you’re Russian?”
I tensed.
“Yes. How’d you know?”
He smiled. “The accent. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Names like that have nicknames, no?”
