Portrait of a Stranger

One of the weirdest things about sitting next to a stranger on an airplane, train or bus is that the entire time that you are squirming around in fevered discomfort trying to get some sleep and counting down the minutes till your arrival what you both really want to do is stare at each other. After several frutive glances over reading material or feigned stretches and back cracks you become aware that while not at all subtle in your attempt to take in your forced travel companion, you are not alone in these attempts. We should really just alocatt a stretch of time at the beginning of the trip to get this out of the way. When the dreaded questions "Is this seat free?" arrives it should be followed by fifteen seconds of socially acceptable staring at each other. Yes, you may have this seat but let me first take a moment to get a good look at you so that I know what I am sitting next to for the next six hours without having to employ whatever creeping abilites I posses. This would certainly aleviate a lot of stress and uncertainty for me personally when I am sitting alone.

Unfortunately, this practice is obviously not condoned and so after I ask the four worded question nobody wants to hear while traveling and steal a quick glance without eye contact, I find myself next to an individual whose physical appearnce I have absolutely no idea of. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that he is wearing faded blue jeans, white sneakers and a black zip up windbreaker over a white t-shirt. Basically the most nondescript single white male you can imagine, the kind where it's almost impossible to tell if they are 22 or 35. Perhaps somewhere inbetween. We are forced to breathe the same air, to exist for 97 minutes in a three by one foot bubble of awkward awareness of each other. I can not help but wonder about him and create my own imagined stories of his life. What's your story? I want to ask him. Why are you coming from the London airport with no bag and nothing in your pockets but an iPod and a phone? Are you listening to your iPod so that we don't have to talk or because it's awkward NOT to talk and NOT listen to it? I think about this person next to me and who he might be. A collection of cells that is loved, hated, desired and worried about by someone in the world. Like me he has lived a life of choices that have brought him to this moment. A moment where as complete strangers we are brought together and in silence share an experience both meaningless and profound. I pause my own ipod and strain to hear what he is listening to. The silence glues us together like static electricity. Suddenly the track changes and I recognize the overplayed vocalization of Rihanna's Rude Boy. Not exactly the soundtrack for an intriguing encounter between two strangers brought together by fate. I return to staring out the window, having lost all interest in the stranger taking up space to the right of me.