Inescapable Wait

Sitting on the plane after the Chicago to Phoenix leg, we were stuck waiting for another plane to leave our gate so we could approach. It wasn't a bad thing, necessarily—we were early. But still, it's that mental thing about having to wait for something we didn't deserve.

Next to me was an elderly black gentleman, a very thin one who seemed to have some trouble with mobility. His son, I think, was sitting behind him and they'd share, literally, a word or two now and then. He had the sharpest, heaviest elbows I've ever witnessed. I know, because somehow they'd end up kind of on my arm, kind of in my side, heavier and heavier until I'd finally wriggle out of his hold.

He slept most of the way over, I think, though that's mostly speculation because I slept most of the way over, too. But now we were awake, frightfully bored, and more and more antsitated (antsy + agitated) with every passing minute. I was trying to pass my time with the on flight magazine, and he was putting me into another elbow hold.

And now and then, in between his sniffling and his stiff jacket-removal (with son's and my help), he'd sigh. A kind of weighted, weary sigh. But what I couldn't help but smile about was the choice expression with which he punctuated each heavy sigh.

Slow exhale, easy "Shiiit." Together. Organic. Completely natural.

Son from behind would kind of embarrassingly try to shush him a bit and patiently explain that we had to wait, that we were early. But he stood his ground. Said something about not being able to do anything else, so he'd just keep complaining.

We eventually made it off that plane and on to continue our own journeys, but the old man left me wondering if sometimes, there really isn't a better way of saying things.