Just Peter’s luck. Of all the empty seats in concourse A, a man plopped down directly behind him, Peter’s own seat shifting as the stranger got comfortable. Their bald heads bumped. One of Peter’s Airpods fell and landed on scattered chip crumbs.
“Sorry about that,” the man said.
Peter hoped to god he’d be seated on the plane far away from this man. “All good.” He retrieved his earbud, gave it a wipe with his shirt, and went back to staring at the turkey on his iPad. With a tap, the turkey disappeared and the word peru appeared in its stead. He sighed, shook his head; he knew that. A whole month learning Portuguese. He should’ve remembered. At least he’d gotten capivara, borboleta, and bastão. But… turtle? Oh, right: tartaruga. Like tortuga. He hated this unit, all the arbitrary and irrelevant vocabulary. He wanted to learn fun words, wanted screen images of superheroes and dragons, pistol-wielding cowboys battling knights in shining armor. Creative words—non-elementary—would show to Henrique he was making a concerted effort.
Another bump. “Sorry again.” The man turned around, chuckling. “Don’t know why they make these seats so small and close together. Missing my La-Z-Boy already.”
Peter was just about to tell the man off when he turned and saw crutches lying beside him. A gray and white medical boot reached his knee, his arm in a cast and sling. “Need any help?” Peter’s voice was flat, his question more out of an obligation than a genuine desire.
The man smiled. “My wife will be back soon. She’s grabbing Starbucks. Want anything? I’ll text her right now.”
Even his smile irritated Peter. That and his polka dot bowtie that looked like it was straight out of Bill Nye’s closet. “All set.”
The man nodded. “So where you headed?”
“Oh, uh, São Paulo.”
“Portugal! I’ve always wanted to go to Portu—”
“Brazil,” Peter interrupted. Henrique would’ve been pissed.
“Oh, that’s right. Been a while since geography class. What’s in Brazil? Work?”
“Uh, yeah.” Easier to lie than confess to flying 5,000 miles for a relationship that ended seven months ago. He had bought the one-way ticket last Friday after a night of drinking too much. Instead of requesting a refund once he became sober, he doubled down, packed his bags, and used the rest of his vacation days. He glanced back at the man, who was waiting for more of a response. To be polite, he asked, “You?”
“Third round interview. Just lucky they’re still considering me.”
The polka dots, the injuries… what could he have been interviewing for? The circus? Petter nodded, slowly tilting his head back to his iPad. An image of a massive mountain. A flowing river. A beautiful landscape. A feather floating away. He wasn’t even paying attention to the translations.
A crackling, boxy voice overhead warned that flight DL4158, Grand Rapids to O’Hare, would begin boarding in thirty minutes. A tall woman shuffled over, a backpack dangling from each shoulder, two coffees in a tray in one hand, a Starbucks bag in the other.
“Hey, honey.” She kissed the man and sighed. “The lawyer just called a second ago. She submitted the formal complaint to the insurance company.” The wife lowered her voice, but Peter could still hear everything. “It’ll take a while, but it’ll be okay. We haven’t maxed out our Discover yet. And we can sell the Camry, especially since I’m remote now. You’ll get this job. I know it. I’m here for you, dear. Every step of the way.”
Every step of the way. Peter frowned. That couple had everything. He maxed his Airpods’ volume and tapped and tapped on the images until he made it to the end of the lesson. He’d learned nothing. A bubble popped up. Would you like to start again?