A Relaxing Solo Flight

Content Warning: Harassment

I flew alone for the first time in my life recently. No family, friends, or coworkers. I felt sick to my stomach on the way to the airport before the sun even rose, my heart thumping as I removed my shoes at TSA and briskly walked to my gate. But the nerves settled as I waited to board with more than enough time to spare. I admired the sunrise against the backdrop of the plane outside the large window by the gate and wondered sheepishly if I will ever get used to flying. I have a habit of worrying to my own detriment.

I got to my seat and asked the group sitting in my side to move because they were in the wrong place. Unfazed, I sat down in my assigned middle seat and put my headphones on, leaving an ear uncovered, a habit that I've never broken. One can never be too cautious that someone may need to talk to them. It feels like courtesy. A man sat down beside me in the aisle seat, almost too close for comfort but I shook it off, economy seating is economy after all. I smelled a hint of weed and something vaguely minty and smiled inwardly, maybe he smoked before boarding to make the flight easier to bear. I’d just have to rely on my kindle and Spotify.

He sat for a few minutes before turning to talk to me, and I had a brief moment of discomfort but hoped this chatty character would slow his roll once we started flying. He asked me a few general questions, where I was visiting, how long I’d be there. I lied about my name and was vague about the rest. I didn’t think much of it, I’ve heard of people being rather talkative on planes or in general. The window seat was still empty and as I stared, I thought to myself that I’d move once we took off. He began to lean a bit closer to me and I still chalked it up to the seats being too close for anyone’s comfort, let alone mine.

Suddenly, he said “I’ve never had an Asian girlfriend.” I gave a low laugh in shock and horror, my blood pumping with a loudness I hadn't noticed before. He chuckled and called me cold, still with the same slow, friendly, tone. Then he asked me to spend time with him when we landed. Then he put his arm around me. I jerked forward and whispered. Please stop.

My heart sped up. I closed my eyes and a quote from The Bell Jar came to mind. I am, I am, I am.

Once the plane took off I forced myself to breathe deeply and got up to ask the flight attendant to move me, luckily, she was able to plop me next to a middle-aged business man who didn’t look twice at me in a row up ahead. I sat in paranoia for the rest of the flight, processing what had just happened and why I felt so dirty. I ran out of the plane the moment we landed and kept looking over my shoulder as I fled the airport. Even outside, I kept looking behind me, half expecting him to appear from thin air, his touch over my shoulder still burned into my senses.

My overactive imagination has conjured up all kinds of similar scenarios far before this ever occurred. I keep a whistle on my lanyard with my keys. I've imagined myself reacting, screaming, shrieking at any attacker or anyone who dared invade my space. I’d scream my head off, I thought to myself in satisfaction at my own imaginary bravery. That’d show them. I never thought I’d whisper a weak plea in response, that I’d allow it to happen. People I told say I should’ve screamed, took a photo, video, something. I know. Fear doesn’t exactly breed rationality.

I realized that safety or the feeling of safety is a privilege, that I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe enough to engage in any sort of conversation with a male stranger when I’m alone again. I don’t think I’ll ever stop looking over my back when I’m traveling alone. It’s the safe thing to do.

Sep. 14, 2023