SFO to JFK

I was sitting strapped into my jumpseat across from him on takeoff. Curly, messy hair, olive skin, bright blue glasses frames. Nike tennis shoes strapped to his feet, opposite my black uniform heels. The sun over the clouds with us shone in through the tiny circle window on the airplane door, and fell in rainbows on the shadowed seam where his tennis shoes rested on the floor. His feet were literally resting on the tops of rainbows. I don’t think he saw this, but it must have been a sign that wherever he was headed, he was on the right path.

I couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous.

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