There is something funny about being in airplanes – being in such close vicinity with people that were strangers only moments before, and who after the duration of the flight will become strangers again.  During the time period spent in the air, people become more than strangers and less than acquaintances – people who you are sitting next to in a very small space, that you most likely will never see again. All collectively praying together that your plane does not crash. The close proximity leading to conversations with people you would have otherwise never met.

It sometimes happens that a person I happen to notice in the waiting area for the plane ends up being the person I sit next to on the flight. This happened to me on a recent flight to New York. I noticed a middle aged man wearing jeans, flannel shirt, baseball cap and boots, striding over to the check in desk in the waiting area. Despite his clothing, there was something about his persona, the way he walked and held himself, which made me think he was not from Minnesota. When we boarded the plane, I chuckled when he ended up being the person sitting next to me.

He struck up a conversation, asking me if I was going home or on a visit. When I returned the question, he said he was going to his childhood home (I was right he was not from Minnesota, he was on a lay over from out West), bringing his mom home for the last time. I glanced at him inquisitively, what he said only slowly dawning on me. “I’m bringing mom home for the last time,” he repeated. “She’s down below. Or maybe not, the undertakers don’t tell you what plane they put them on.” I did not know how to respond to such a proclamation, and managed to get out an “I’m sorry for your loss”, while taking in the reality that a body was very likely 6 feet underneath me. I know that bodies are frequently transported in planes. I have certainly witnessed such events in television, movies, and books, but this was the first time I was in a situation that brought to my attention the fact that there could be dead bodies in the plane I was on. I had just never thought about that possibility before.

The man continued talking about his mother’s illness and her death. How his daughters had not made it in time to say goodbye. All the while I could not stop thinking about the fact that his dead mother might be underneath me at that very moment, or another body could be. Maybe there were multiple bodies even. I was calculating all the times I had flown in the past and all the bodies that I may have been on planes with. He wanted someone to talk to, to tell about his dead mother. But I did not want to continue hearing stories about his mother’s last words, about how she had already had her whole funeral arranged before she died. I listened politely for a while, nodding and inserting the appropriate “that sounds hard”. When I had had enough I tried to go back to my book, but he kept talking, not picking up my hint. He seemed like he would have spent the rest of the flight talking about his mother.  So as rude as it was, I adventually turned my iPod on, since reading my book was not giving him the intended signal that I was ready to be done with our conversation. I used the music to try and drown out my thoughts about bodies being below me.

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