She was aggressive off the bat. Perhaps that’s why it bothered me. I wouldn’t have minded sitting in the other seat, but the aggression threw me off.
All I said was, “I think that’s my seat?” With the inflection in my voice, that soft question intonation, that vocal gesture indicating, perhaps I’m wrong, but maybe we could figure this out together?
But she returned it with a hard, “This is my seat.” A head turn, a body wave, wide, accusing eyes. And everything so fast, as if she’d been waiting for someone to challenge her.
“Um, my ticket says 15C?” I looked up at the numbers above the row of seats.
“That’s over there, the window seat.” She pointed.
Then before I could reply, the lady across spoke for me—
“No, C is the aisle.”
And behind me, a man—
“See in the image, A is by the window.”
And her quick adjustment when she realized she was wrong. “Oh. Okay.” And up she moved, shifting her weight to the window seat.
For a second I stood there, unsure what to do. Sorry, I wanted to say. You can have mine, I wanted to say. But she had moved and they had said it all for me. The voices around me had resolved it before I had time to think, before I had time to act as I would have acted if it had been only me. I felt my soul shrink behind my body like a snail slipping into a twisted shell. I’m kind. I promise I’m kind.
I took my seat, still considering offering it back to her. But wasn’t she rude? Should I always lay myself down like a red carpet for everyone around me?
Guilt tugged at my throat and I avoided eye contact with the lady in the window seat.
I felt like a Karen (as the kids say these days), like I complained and got my way. But I didn’t complain. I was mute, watching it all unfold around me. And my way was the way it was supposed to be before the window lady mistook my seat for hers.
I settled in, pulled out a book and read the same page six times. Perhaps I would have been more comfortable in the window seat. I closed my eyes, but the scene remained. “This is my seat.”
Perhaps some people are made to be red carpets and some people are made to wear velvet shoes.
March 27, 2024