Leaning

I'm on some kind of a roll. On the flight home from Portland I sat next to a leaner. I was in the middle seat, working my crossword puzzle, when the young man in the window seat said, "Those are hard, aren't they?"

"Yeah," I agreed, "although these are supposed to be the easy ones."

"Let's see what you've got," he said, leaning against me and reading the clue for 47 across.

What could I do but collaborate at this point? Our arms touched, leaning shoulder to shoulder, fingers brushing as he pointed out the clue to 26 down. We found a few more answers, but finally had to throw in the towel. Neither of us knew the song from Verdi's "Un Ballo in Maschera" or what in the heck "yadda, yadda, yadda" hinted at.

I stuffed my crossword book back in my bag, not wishing to start a second puzzle with the leaner snuggled up at my side.

Before I knew it he was showing me the photo album on this I-phone. He showed me sunrise from the 205 bridge between Vancouver and Portland, sunset along the Columbia, mountain biking near Mt.Hood, his mother's birthday flowers, floating some river with a brown bulldog, video of his nephew standing under a dripping snow tunnel, and discarded bags of Frito Lay chips from his work.

All the time leaning. Had I been 20 I might have fallen in love. Had he been older it would have been creepy.

The flight attendant took our drink orders, and I turned to Steve and whispered something in his ear. He couldn't hear me with his earplugs in, but I had to make myself clear. If I was going to snuggle it was going to be with my man, the one on the aisle. For the rest of the flight the leaner stayed confined within seat 26A.

I wish the leaner well. Maybe on the next leg of his flight the middle seat will hold a 20 something girl who will pull out a book of suduko.

"Those are hard, aren't they," he'll say.

"Yeah," she'll agree, looking into his beautiful brown eyes.

"Let's see what you've got," he'll say. And he'll lean.