She wrote it again.
PART TWO: SEAT 18B
Grandma wore a blue cardigan with sensible white sneakers. She carried a paperback mystery, two peanut-butter sandwiches, and a small black purse. She packed lightly because she wanted space for “something beautiful from the ocean.”
Our excitement lasted until we checked our boarding passes.
Grandma’s seat was 18B.
Mine was 26C.
The cheapest tickets had placed us apart. I asked the gate agent whether we could switch, but the flight was completely booked.
“You can ask another passenger,” she said. “The crew may be able to help once everyone is seated.”
I hated the idea of leaving Grandma by herself, but she squeezed my hand.
“I can manage for a little while,” she said. “I’m not made of glass.”
“I know. I just don’t want you to have to struggle.”
“Save your worrying for the ocean. It may be more dangerous than I think.”
When we boarded, I walked Grandma to row 18.
The woman in seat 18A had already settled in as though she owned the entire row. She wore a fitted black jacket and gold earrings, with her blond hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. Her coat covered Grandma’s seat, her tote occupied the foot space, and the armrest was raised. Her hip took up nearly half of 18B.
Grandma stopped beside the row, holding her cane in one hand.
“Excuse me,” I said politely. “That’s my grandmother’s seat.”
The woman barely glanced away from her phone.
“I’m comfortable like this.”
She moved her coat but kept the armrest raised and left her tote near Grandma’s feet.
Grandma tried turning sideways, but the arthritis in her knees made the movement painful. Her shoulder brushed the woman’s arm.
The woman recoiled sharply. “Could you please not crowd me?”
I looked at the two seats.
“She’s barely sitting down.”
The woman finally turned and looked Grandma over.
“Then maybe people her age shouldn’t even be traveling.”
The words lingered in the narrow aisle, and heat rushed into my face.
“What did you just say?”
Grandma tightened her fingers around mine.
“Please, honey,” she whispered. “Don’t let one rude person ruin our first vacation.”
A flight attendant named Nora came over.
“Is everything all right?”
I explained what happened. Nora looked at the coat, bag, and raised armrest.
“Ma’am, I need you to lower the armrest and keep your personal items in your assigned space. Your fellow passenger needs her seat.”
The woman’s lips tightened.
“I paid for my ticket.”
“So did the passenger beside you.”
“It’s not my problem if she needs extra space.”
Nora’s tone became firmer.
“No one is asking you to give up your seat. We’re asking you to remain within it.”
The woman dropped the armrest with an irritated snap, pushed her tote beneath the seat ahead of her, and pulled her coat onto her lap.
Grandma carefully lowered herself into 18B.
There was still hardly any room, but at least she could sit without twisting her legs.
I placed her purse beneath the seat and straightened her cardigan strap.
