Political Enemies Share Air Space.

Oh, be careful, for what binds us is costly.

The wheel chairs sat side by side as their occupants waited for the blue vested gate agent. One of the ladies wore opened toed brown leather Birkenstocks. Her tight sock perched atop the footrest indicated signs of fluid retention that probably came with her weighted-age.

Both of them were priority boarders. The airline employee pushed the elderly ladies down the gangplank. But one at a time, the colorful socked one first and then returned for the other.

“Let’s get you all settled now,” she said with a kind smile.

The two who needed assistance were sisters. They had to be. And my guess was that had been so for at least seventy-five years.

Group 1 walked on which included me. My digital boarding pass displayed an aisle seat; 7C. Five steps inside the cabin, at the window sat the one with the swollen ankles.

I greeted her then sat my last minute purchase of a hot coffee down on the floor. Before anyone could bump into me, I pulled out the sealed pack of hummus and crackers from my bag. Then shut it. The small wheeled carryon slipped effortlessly overhead.

She remarked before I sat down.

“You are all prepared. I was silly and left my snacks up there.”

I offered to get them but she decided to risk the trolley.

“What’s your name, hun?” She asked.

Her name was Cathy.

That was it. We were off on a 90-minute friendship race.

Glancing over my shoulder, she wanted to know if she could still play solitaire on her phone while in airplane mode too. I took another hot sip and drug an ace of hearts onto the top row, then helped her. Her device sounded a text ping before she switched to silent.

“Look at that! Do you get these?” She said showing me her screen.

Everyone did. It was election season in America. No electronic stone lay unturned.

It annoyed us. We agreed that surely two weeks before, a mere text from a candidate would shift no one’s vote.

Then she started a rant that was full of passion, fear, conviction, and I totally disagreed with everything she said. But I chose to keep my mouth shut.

The two of us represented the great American political divide of left verses right, conservative verses liberal. Only this debate was not under lights with cameras zooming in and moderators turning off mics, this set was on row 7.

“It’s just a way for HIM to say more mean words. That’s what these texts are all about. If this country allows that dictator in, I’m moving.”

I asked her to where? Our northern cousins seemed to be her best option. She barely got onboard, I just couldn’t see her hitching her political wagon up and heading across Wyoming and Montana.

“I would caution you though, Cathy. As one who has given birth to two baby boys under a socialized national healthcare system in the UK, you might not be very impressed.”

Keep in mind, she had verbally listed a litany of her physical complaints as the last of the passengers had boarded. I knew way too much about her health. But she was my mom’s age and I felt daughter-ish towards her.

She read me the phone news headlines as we taxied out. As we waited for, ‘number 1 for take off,’ we talked of the hurricane horrors in North Carolina and Florida. What a terrible thing for our people. Then we had a marvelous chat on rising insurance premiums and how coastal rebuilders drove up our inland costs. Sorry to all my friends with sand between their toes! Without a viable solution, we were in unity that the insurance problem was probably best dealt with state by state. She was smart. I liked her.

We leveled off.

She went back to raving about HIM… and wow, she said that pronoun with much emphasis and loathing.  I just listened. I was too tired to debate. I had just come from visiting a grandchild with leukemia and a Daddy with Alzheimers. Besides, she was exercising her first amendment right. Free speech was just that - free. I had the currency to listen.

However, I think that she assumed I agreed with her. It was time for me to own up. That’s what friends do - even short term ones.

“Cathy, now that we’re seat mates and comrades on insurance issues, I need to confess something,” I didn’t lean in because one third of her left side was already in my seat. Her body touched mine. “I’m on the opposite political side as you.”

Mimicking her pronoun description game, I said “I didn’t vote for HER. I’ve already voted for HIM.”

She was shocked. Horrified is probably a better word. As she inhaled for what could have been a tongue lashing from an elder, I waved my white flag and said;

“But as Americans who love our country (and our opinion,) surely we can respect our differences and move on?”

She exhaled her anger. It was a choice to capitulate.

My shoulders relaxed. Dodged that bullet - but barely.

“Tell me why you are headed to Denver? What are you and your sister up to? My guess is no good!”

She giggled.

I sensed that she was relieved to not argue too. Maybe she felt mother-ish towards me?

“I moved to Northwest Arkansas in 2013,” then she stopped mid sentence. Her hand patted her beating heart. And the tears came. “My son got brain cancer. He was a single parent and a good Dad so I moved to help with my granddaughter.”

She composed herself a little. I touched her arm as she continued.

“I took that baby up there,” she referred to the oncology ward. “She would say, “‘those nurses make daddy better.’”

By now, I was tearing up. But then again it doesn’t take much these days to set me off.

“They didn’t make him better. He died. And I’ve stayed in Arkansas to help with Olivia.”

My words were compassionate. Responding to her pain was easy.

I then lightened the moment a bit and asked her questions about the granddaughter. Olivia had just started her first year of college.

“My sister and I may move to Colorado. I have a daughter here. It would be good to live together at our season of life. We’re going to investigate that now.”

Neither of them could live alone anymore. They needed help. Their sunset years would be spent viewing the majestic Rocky Mountains.

Then I chose to share my pain. Lucy Tedder became the topic of our conversation. She wiped the tears from her eyes again only this time because of cancer in our family, not hers.

“Oh sweetheart, that is never right for a child to suffer,” she said “I promise to pray for Lucy.”

Then she practically yelled the story, repeating it to her sister who sat behind me.. They both agreed to take my granddaughters name to heaven’s asking room.

We began our decent.

What a tender ride. We shared our political thoughts and our soul’s brokenness. But we also chose to respect one another.

I don’t always behave so well, you know.

With landing gear down and less than two thousand feet remaining, I closed with;

“You know Cathy, come November 6th, one of us is going to wake up depressed and the other one, quite happy.”

She nodded in affirmation.

We were both legitimately worried about our 2024 American election and ensuing President.

“I say, we both promise to choose joy, either way.”

She one upped me;

“I have a better idea, let’s choose peace.”

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Come on, America. We can do this!

#USA

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