One two three four five ten sixteen twenty-two twenty-seven thirty-two thirty-eight. Adam counts thirty-eight windows and wonders again, why he is here, why he is doing this. He hates airports.
Seated in front of the oversized glass windows he can see the ground crew at work loading and unloading, fueling and refueling. They walk around in their orange vests – Adam thinks about his dislike for the putrid color. Still, his eyes remain glued to the fluorescent wanderers.
A hand touches his shoulder and he stands abruptly, clutching his gym bag at his side. He is accompanied to his gate by a short blonde in a navy blue suit. As they walk he watches her from behind, and focuses his gaze on her chest when she turns to hand off his boarding ticket. The blonde, upon noticing the location in which his eyes linger smiles politely and blushes. She escorts him through the doors and the cold air hits them. Adam, who was following closely behind her, increases his pace until he is walking directly beside her. He reaches out and touches the small of her back and she stops, turns and leans against the makeshift wall facing towards him. With his hand cupped to the side of her face he presses his lips to hers. When he pulls away she exhales slowly and deliberately before opening her eyes.
Adam pinches the corner of his ticket stub she is holding and studies it quickly. “16A,” he croons. “Make sure you come by and see me, long flight and all.” He kisses her again and steps away quickly, pulling his jacket tightly around his body.
He counts the plane windows as he walks down the aisle. One two three four five eleven fourteen seventeen twenty-two. He has not counted all of the windows when he arrives at his seat. He sits down quickly and, craning his neck to see, counts the remainder of the windows. Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven. Adam cannot relax. Thirty-seven. He counts the windows again and again.
Adam sits back in his seat and fidgets distractedly. He closes his eyes, opens them. Links his fingers together, pulls them apart. He cannot relax. He attempts to entertain himself by watching the other individuals slowly pour onto the plane.
He watches the business men in their expensive Italian suits talking on their phones, setting up their laptops and getting settled in to spend the flight working
He studies the women – they come in all shapes and sizes.
He skips over the women with their messy, tangled hair pulled under their baseball caps; not interested. He passes over the redhead with the seemingly uncontrollable freckles and the brunette with premature grey hair and wrinkles. He stares at any and every pair of breasts that maneuver past his aisle seat. Adam feels antsy. He needs to have sex.
He thinks of the blonde flight attendant, thinks of the kiss, and thinks of how it felt to touch her back. He rises from his seat and looks for her but his efforts go unrewarded.
Adam sits through the safety demonstration and takeoff silently like a stone statue. The second the seatbelt light goes off he jumps from his seat and charges to the washroom. Once inside, he latches on to the sides of the cool, metal sink and stares at his reflection in the mirror. His blue eyes are wet and red from his lack of the sleep and his body feels exceptionally heavy. It is as if all of his energy is spent holding himself up on his two feet.
Adam releases a gust of air and sits down roughly. He tries not to think about sex. He closes his eyes.
Adam is awoken by a timid knock at the bathroom door. He jumps to his feet and throws open the metal door, much to the surprise of the woman standing, waiting. He smiles.
“Excuse me,” she says, motioning to slip past him. Adam steps aside abidingly and returns to his seat. Slowly and laboriously he falls asleep.
The plane touches down and Adam opens his tired eyes. He has forgotten about the windows. “Where are we?”
The seats beside him are empty. “Where are we,” he repeats, louder.
A man across the aisle from him replies without looking up from his open newspaper. Boston. Adam looks up from his lap and stares absently at the seat in front of him, his mind running a mile a minute. Three years; he hadn’t realized it had been so long.
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