Flighty

This was a day of firsts. I'd never been to Europe before, and had readied myself for a three-hour experience at the Paris airport. How thrilling! I also had never rode on Air France, only knew of a band with the same name that I enjoyed. They are, naturally, from Sweden. Also, I had never in my life been on a plane of such size. This particular Boeing was laid with three rows of three seats, perfectly lining the plane horizontally and vertically, front to back. It was massive, and was relaxing to feel so little under me that ordinarily felt like, well, a plane. This felt more like an apartment building. I sat in the middle seat where I had been assigned, between two men, one American and one...not-American. I wasn't sure where he was from, and I didn't care much. I generally prefer to keep to myself on a flight, enjoying my movie, book, music, wine, nap, or what have you that I’ve assigned to myself.
I was relieved to find that neither appeared to be interested in a conversation. The American ordered a brandy and coke, and the other man took champagne, as did I. Perhaps it was the soothing nature of the drink, the soft bob of the floating airbus, or the fact that he hadn't initiated conversation, but something compelled me to say hello. We introduced ourselves. Olivier was from Germany, but he lived in France, worked in Italy, and had some sort of office in Sweden. His face was kind, and molded to reflect a life of intensity, perhaps great labor, but also a glittering gusto towards life. I was instantly interested. Hi, I'm Sara, I go to school in Iowa. That's all I had to offer, so we started with him.
He told me about his travels, how he was tired sometimes of the flights but overall he very much enjoyed seeing the world. He seemed quite young, with a brightly shining adventurous side, though he was somewhere in his late fifties. I've always enjoyed this sort of personality and am finding it increasingly harder to come by. I feel that I relate to it quite well, in the mirror-opposite sort of way.
Over the course of the remaining nine and a half hours, we became what I can call friends, not feel like I'm lying or exaggerating. He taught me a few basic things in French, encouraging me to speak up when I tried the words and phrases myself. If I didn't speak up, nobody would hear, and I would never learn a thing. That was his take, and I agreed.
He explained that he was on his way to Italy, with a connecting flight in Paris. I told him that I was headed to Morocco, but would very much like to see Paris someday. He told me to do it right, not how the tourists or the Euro-traveling college kids do it. I asked what he recommended, and he told me to be sure to stay for at least two weeks. Get a feel; allow a short hint of domesticity. I thought this was a great idea. I'd never been to Europe before because I never much cared for the idea of running around, taking a few days to see the major sites. What he was basically telling me is to go 'live' in Paris for two weeks, an idea to which I gravitated to immediately.
We took a break from one another as he turned in for a short nap, and I tuned in for a long movie. Somewhere in the middle, he rolled over and said something I couldn't hear through my headphones. I took them off, and he repeated his statement. "I don't feel good," he slurred. I patted his back, trying to not wake the half of him that was still asleep, or so I had thought.
The next thing that happened led me to believe that he actually was sick, and not just sleepy. The upper half of his body fell onto mine, which startled me and honestly disappointed me. I was convinced for a brief moment that he was just being a bit of a dirty old man, but once I pushed his body up and saw that his eyes were still, and felt his clammy hands, I knew this was no old mans joke. My finger went straight to the assistance button. I punched it wildly, yelling a bit for assistance, trying to get attention but not cause a scene. A few stewards came around and lifted him firmly out of his seat, using all the force they could since his legs would no longer hold him up. This was the final straw for me. Despite the illumination of the seatbelt sign, I unbuckled anyway, and sat on the floor next to him with the hand of a beautiful French stewardess around mine. She smiled at me, telling me not to cry and that he would be fine. I was terrified. I told them that I was sorry, but I refused to go, so they allowed me to stay while pumping oxygen through his mouth and into his lungs. They spoke in French and I understood nothing, feeling all the more panicked, both because of language barriers, and a presented condition I knew very little about. After a few eternal minutes of weightlessness, Olivier's eyes revealed creases of life in their corners. What was this? He was smiling beneath the air mask? What an asshole. He spoke to the stewards, laughed a bit, asking what had happened. He drank his water and sat up slowly, with the assistance of a clean cut young man. He looked at me and saw that I had been crying about something. "What's this all about, are you okay?" he said. I had to laugh because he was asking me if I was okay. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't do that again." I said. He promised to be good for the rest of the flight. It was a promise I could trust just as much as he could, so I kept an eye on him for the remaining few hours. We had already experienced many facets of emotion within our short visit with one another, and this made things suddenly feel different. We'd known each other much longer than the time of the flight, and yet no more at all.
The plane landed, we were in Paris. My heart beat faster at the idea of being there. Olivier and I were within eyes reach until we each found our own exits to the separate gates. I thanked him for his advice about Paris, helping me with my horrible French, and being the first person on a plane I'd ever felt inclined to speak to. He gave me a hug. It was time to go.
With genuine thanks to complications in Morocco, I ended up in Paris a week and a half later, staying for a little over two weeks. People were very curious to know why I was staying for so long, not seeing any other places in Europe, and I just said that it felt like the right thing to do. I think Olivier was probably sitting next to me for a very specific reason that he's not even aware of. Funny how the world works.