No longer a stranger.

I feel like starting up a conversation with the woman sitting next to me on the plane. But I hesitate. Why? Maybe because she's wearing earphones. Listening to something. And occasionally laughing. Maybe I will cultivate contact. Eventually. Because it's strange not to strike up a conversation with someone sitting next to me for 8 hours. Maybe I'll tell her that. Start the conversation that way. Maybe I'll tell her I am a writer and that's what I have been doing in recent minutes. Observing. In silent writing. Like in a journal. Expressing what's on my mind. The strangeness of silence. It's absurd. That strangers on a plane are capable of not talking to each other. Why is that? More often than not, I don't let it happen. But occasionally I choose silence. I remain aloof. I don't follow my inclination. And I choose not to share my thoughts. Non-contact. And usually I regret it. Maybe I should break the silence. Make inquiries. What will she say? What do you dare tell a stranger? Right off-the-bat. It's fascinating to learn things about a total stranger. To satisfy one's curiosity. Knowing something meaningful about people one is likely to see only once in a lifetime. Ever so briefly. Yes, the passenger on a flight. I assume she's American. Maybe about 35. Nice looking. Intelligent. And that she's returning home after visiting in Europe. She's alone. I wonder where she's going. She orders white wine with her pasta lunch. She has difficulty opening the small bottle. And she asks me to assist. I open the wine. And no longer will she remain a stranger. --Jim Broede