Here’s my story, Scotty…
About 12 years ago, when I was till living in the States, I was exhausted and hoping that no one would take the seat next to me on the plane to London. So, you can imagine, when I caught the site of a pair of boots as I was bent over stuffing my bag under the seat in front of me. I thought, “Oh..now, that’s great…some big galumph is going to sit next to me.” I looked up and found myself staring into the most amazing eyes. I was not expecting that. But more than that, he looked familiar to me. Of course, we had never met (this time around anyway.) He was a British guy who had been over in the States and was on his way home. He had played rugby in the UK and had gone to America to try his hand at US football. (No, he wasn’t famous.)
He took the seat next to me and we fumbled about with seat belts and started laughing as the seats were so cramped. “I guess we are going to get to know each other really well,” he said. And that broke the ice. We started talking. There was this instant and amazing connection. We talked all the way. We looked so much like a couple that the flight attendants were asking us what the other wanted. The most interesting thing was that we ended up talking about soulmates…and it was just a very revealing conversation. The flight was ten hours so we had a lot of time. He told me about his life, and I told him about mine. He was deep and thoughtful and kind. We had a lot of the same interests.
When the cabin lights were turned off, I got up to go to the ladies room. When I returned, in the dim light, I saw that he was gone (he had had the aisle seat). I looked around and then heard a whisper….he had moved over to the window seat and put the armrest up. He signaled to me and opened his arms so that I could curl up and sleep with my head on his chest. And that’s what I did. And he held me in his arms and would kiss the top of my head periodically, ask me if I was comfortable and we fell asleep in those cramped seats. All very sweet (nothing tawdry.) It’s very silly to say this, but I felt so safe in those arms. As if I had just reconnected with someone I knew before.
When we landed, he made sure that my bags were all together and that I knew where I was supposed to go. We exchanged addresses and numbers, but he was leaving rugby and going back to school to get a degree and he was starting in a few days…something that he had postponed for years. I was in England only for ten days at that time. And I called him to ask if he wanted to meet, but he could not get away. I felt slighted thinking that perhaps he just did not want to meet. I felt really rejected….and I realize that was ridiculous…he probably was busy. For years, I thought of him, I had his mailing address and thought of writing to him and never did. I then lost his address. I would look on the internet attempting to find him. I would find articles on his rugby matches, but no sign of him.
When I moved to the UK, years ago, I tried to contact him….I wrote to him in care of his university, but there was no response. My email address (which I included on that letter) had to be changed because the email service was discontinued. So, if he tried to write, I never would have received it. I still thought of him and then I put it to the back of my mind.
Last week….on a whim…after searching on the two major social sites to no avail…for a long time….I found him. There was his picture. And my heart skipped a beat.
I have not yet contacted him.
That’s how vulnerable I still feel.
So, there’s my very long-winded answer to your question….Scotty.
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