Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Two Passing Strangers

Two young, black men stood at the end of the row. I sat next to the window with my pillow tucked against the side, my book in my lap. The two men both argued as to who would sit in the middle. I wasn't about to give up the window. The shorter man lost the toss and ended up next to me. He and his friend settled in trying to look and sound cool. It was a red eye flight from Atlanta to Portland. Everyone settled in quickly.

"Would you like to lay your head on my pillow?" I asked. "You can lay against my shoulder. I don't mind." Soon soft snores were drowned out by the roar of the plane. I read and he slept. His leather jacket slid down. I pulled it up around him. "You okay, Lady," I assured him that I was just fine.

The plane landed. The taller man handed me my suitcase from the overhead. My sleepy friend stretched. "You sure are a nice lady." I never even his name.

They walked up the ramp ahead of me never to be seen again. But that quiet moment, with a sweet head resting on my shoulder, I'd found God. He was wearing baggy pants and skull and cross-bone jacket.

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