[Flying.] From Atlanta to Pittsburgh. Two seats on one side of the aisle. One on the other. By myself, now. Three seats. Window, Middle, Aisle. In Window sits a man. Not a boy. Too old for boy. Barely old enough for man. Twenty-something. Glasses. Light brown hair. No one is in Middle. I am in Aisle. He smiles when I take my seat. I smile back. Suddenly wonder if hair is in place. Bangs hang sexily in front of left eye. Check. Good. Flip hair back. It works. “You can put your bag here if you like.” Simple. Direct. Not shy. Nice voice. I like that. Smile again. Smile back. Fumble with bag. Put it in Middle. “Thanks, it’ll be easier this way.” Ooh. Almost sounds sexual. Good? Or Bad? He smiles. Good. Fumble with contents of bag again. Use as excuse to look at him. He doesn’t notice. Tatoo. Jeans. Nice T-Shirt. Kinda tan. Big nose. Glance down. Flip-flops. I like his style. I like his tattoo. He reads a newspaper. The New York Times. Smart. Even better. I read my book. Tension. He glances my way occasionally. I glance his. Time passes. I read. He listens to music. He mouths some words. He taps his flip-flop. He nods his head. I wonder what he is listening to. Flight Attendant taps me. Startles me. “Oh!” “Would you like anything to drink, honey?” “Oh, yes… just a water please.” “Hm?” Louder this time. “A water.” She hands me a plastic cup. Filled with water and ice. “And for you, sir?” He answers. His voice is suave. Impressive. Almost cocky. Like he wants to make a statement. “Merlot, please.” “Can I see your I.D.?” He doesn’t falter. Reaching for his wallet with a fluid motion. “Here you are.” She takes his wallet. He points. “Right there on top.” She smiles. “Alright then.” Hands back the wallet. He reaches for his credit card with a prideful motion. She holds up her hand. “You can pay after.” She hands him a glass. And an individual-sized bottle of Merlot. I’m too busy pretending that I’m not paying attention. He sets his wallet down in Middle. Opens his Merlot. I drink my water. I pretend to read. Time passes. I read. He listens to music. He mouths some words. He taps his flip-flop. He nods his head. I wonder what he is listening to. Captain’s voice announces that we’ve almost arrived. It’s been a while. Eyes hurt from reading so long. I take a hurried glance in his direction. He’s not looking. He peers out the window. I look too. It’s beautiful. A sea of clouds. But I’m not looking at that anymore. His newspaper doesn’t cover his hand. His hand rested discreetly on his crotch. His mouth moves to the music. His fingers move in barely noticeable gestures. Rubbing. Pulsing in time. In what I can only assume is in rhythm. I turn my head. Disgusted. I look back, entranced. He is ugly now. His tattoo is lame. Nose too big. Glasses dorky. Toenails unclipped. Disgusting. His hand still moves. I cringe slightly. Return to reading my book. Wait for the flight to end. Oh, Mr. Merlot. You seemed impressive. You seemed interesting. And interested. You ruined it. I had hopes that you might be different. But you proved me wrong. Just like everyone else. You are simply a boy. | 
