By the time I turned sixty-one, I had learned two lessons that mattered more than most others. Life was far too brief to spend it constantly worrying about what strangers thought, and nobody was ever too old to enjoy a truly satisfying prank.
That night, I was traveling on an overnight flight. I had lived with type 2 diabetes for many years, and I was also carrying more weight than I would have liked. I had made peace with my body a long time ago, though I would be lying if I claimed cruel remarks never hurt.
I was flying to see my daughter and my two grandchildren so we could celebrate Halloween together. My eight-year-old granddaughter planned to dress as a witch, while her ten-year-old brother intended to become a vampire. For weeks, I had been sewing their costumes, adding so many dramatic touches that even a Hollywood costume designer might have appreciated them.
My suitcase was packed with candy and decorations for the house. Carefully wrapped inside a travel blanket in my carry-on was a special present for my grandson. He adored horror movies and loved every frightening prank he could find.
My daughter often teased me about him.
“Mom, sometimes I feel as if I have three children instead of two.”
I had always taken that as a compliment.
I boarded the plane in an excellent mood and settled into the aisle seat I had chosen in advance. It made getting up easier and allowed me to move without disturbing the people beside me.
Unfortunately, the woman in the window seat seemed determined to ruin the journey before we had even left the ground.
She looked to be around forty. She was slim, perfectly dressed, and wore an expensive-looking watch. Her perfume was so strong that I found myself wondering whether she had emptied the entire bottle onto her clothes.
The moment I sat down, she examined me slowly from head to toe and released an exaggerated sigh.
I offered her a polite smile. She did not return it.
While the flight crew prepared for departure, a baby began crying several rows behind us.
“Wonderful,” my seatmate muttered. “Now we have six hours of someone else’s child screaming.”
A man across the aisle opened a bag of chips.
“People have completely forgotten how to behave in public,” she announced.
A few minutes later, she pulled out a pair of sleek, costly headphones. I felt relieved, assuming she would listen to music and leave everyone around her alone.
That hope lasted less than five minutes.
She tore the headphones off with an irritated gasp.
“Unbelievable! The battery is dead!”
“You might be able to ask a flight attendant for help charging them,” I suggested.
“I didn’t ask for your advice.”
I returned to my magazine. I had barely read a paragraph when she tapped one finger against my arm.
“Would you mind stopping that noise?”
“What noise?”
“That awful breathing. It sounds as if a broken vacuum cleaner is operating beside me.”
I blinked at her.
“I could try holding my breath, although I’m not sure I’d make it all the way to our destination.”
Her expression hardened. Clearly, humor was not among her strengths.
Trying to ease the tension, I mentioned that I was flying to spend Halloween with my grandchildren.
She wrinkled her nose.
“I can’t stand that holiday. Hideous decorations, creepy dolls, disgusting masks. I don’t even watch horror films. They give me nightmares.”
“My grandson loves them,” I said.
“I’ll never understand why people enjoy frightening one another. It seems deeply abnormal to me.”
I imagined what my grandson would have said. He probably would have invented ten new pranks on the spot.
Instead, I smiled and went back to reading. At that point, I had no intention of frightening anyone.
Not yet.
About twenty minutes after takeoff, I took a granola bar from my bag. Managing my blood sugar required regular snacks, and my doctor had been very clear that I was not to skip them.
My seatmate noticed immediately.
“You’re actually going to eat that?”
“Yes. I need something small.”
“Of course you do. Have you ever considered eating less instead? You already take up part of my seat.”
I turned toward her.
“I’m sitting entirely within my own seat. I’m not crossing into yours.”
She gave a contemptuous little laugh.
“When was the last time you looked in a mirror? Even your enormous leg is on my side.”
I glanced down. Both of my legs were well inside the space assigned to me. Still, I drew my knees together more tightly so she would have no fresh excuse to complain.
Ten minutes later, she announced that she needed to use the restroom. I unfastened my belt and began to stand, making room for her to pass.
“Why do you take so long to get up?” she snapped. “People should know their own size and think about the comfort of everyone else.”
Heat rushed into my face.
I could usually come up with a sharp answer when someone deserved one, but after hours of insults, my mind had gone completely blank.
When she returned, she stopped a passing flight attendant.