"I love shrimp but I'm allergic. I can eat it any way."
"I used to be a heavy drinker but I stopped because it was beginning to overcome me."
"Do you know how to make flour tortillas?"
Inane, pointless conversation punctuated by strange, deep truths. Strangers meeting for the first time, stuck together by chance and random airline seat shuffling.
I'm trying to sleep, leaned over painfully in my aisle seat, and now their awkward silence is making me uncomfortable. I can't decide if it's worse than the overly loud conversation.
The frown lines between my eyes get deeper. The silence is worse.
"I want a puppy, but they're a lot of work to take care of."
"My sister lost her baby not too long ago."
"There's at least one Mexican food restaurant on every corner."
Details no one cares about, words that are forced out for fear of that sweaty, stomach churning silence.
Now the man gives up and moves seats, leaving behind an utterly inadequate excuse for moving. His excuse sits heavy in the air like sour breath.
Silence. Sweet, comfortable silence. I lean back over painfully and close my eyes with a sigh.
The lines in between my eyes soften, then disappear entirely.
