I’m the Dude in 9C

 

You know they are looking at me

I feel their thoughts, I hope he’s not near me

There’s a seat open, and it’s 9C

I plop my bags, and manage the overhead

The sideways glances the lean away is evident

I’ve planned ahead, as much as I could do

I look ahead, no eye contact is part of the plan

I’ve got medications to help

I’ve got napkins, they hold up better than tissue

I’ve got four hours of closeness with 9B and 9D and rows 8 and 10

Fruitlessly I suppress cough, it just makes it worse

You know it has to come out – I might just explode

It sounds worse than it is, but who’s going to want to hear that

I know what they are thinking anyway, my next week is ruined

I hope not, but I couldn’t drive home, so there’s no choice

Sometimes it’s a bit of life’s lottery, sorry you were near 9C

Finally, arrival, and for a first, no one crowds me as I leave

They never stopped looking at me