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  The speaker is blaring again. Boarding on flight #8131 is now beginning, the attendant announces. Sweet Caroline has begun to pack up her things. Not wanting to be noticed, I gather myself up quickly, toss my full cup of coffee in the nearby trash and make my way to the gate. Once I arrive there, I stand behind a pillar so I could watch her arrive at the gate. Stalker move, to say the least.

  They’re beginning by boarding passengers seated in first class. Normally, I’d be right up there in line anxious to get on board and settle in. Today I wait and look around the terminal. And here she comes. Sweet Caroline enters stage right. Gliding her way across the waiting area, she finds her place in line. So, it looks like she’ll be sitting in first class with me. Happy day, Eric! I feel like a schoolboy anticipating his first kiss, I’m that excited. I do the quick calculations: Typically there are eight to twelve seats in first class, and estimating the number of passengers in line right now, I count nine. . . . Counting me, that makes ten passengers in first class. I, therefore, have a one in eight chance of sitting next to Sweet Caroline. Then again, if I were in Vegas, would I be hedging a 1 in 8 chance on a bet? Probably not. But, a man can dream. Crazier things have happened. Neil Diamond’s first verse rings in my ear.

  What I do next is even bold by my standards. I take my place in line behind so that there are two passengers separating myself from Sweet Caroline. Of course, it goes without saying, that I don’t take my eyes off her. Specifically, though, I want to see if I could catch a glimpse of her passport and her name when she hands it to the attendant during pre-boarding. Better still, if I could read her surname printed on the boarding pass, I’d be in really awesome shape.

  I inch my way up close to the gentleman standing in front of me, hoping to look over his shoulder. When Sweet Caroline hands over her documents, I wait as patiently as I can. For some reason, being this close to her I feel so nervous. Very edgy and I don’t know why. And when I’m nervous I always scratch my head, which is what I’m doing right now. I‘ve been a business traveler for years, in and out of dozens of airports and this is the first time I’ve been captivated by a fellow passenger this way. Man, I got it bad.

  She hands over her documents and gives a slight smile to the attendant as she hands over her . . . do my eyes deceive me . . . really? I see it. I see the familiar dark blue leather cover . . . it is . . . a Canadian passport. Yes! She’s Canadian . . . maybe she’s returning home…to Toronto . . . hmmm. Second verse is coming.

  And, just like that, faster than the snap of her fingers, the attendant tears off half her portion of the boarding card and hands Sweet Caroline the remaining slip. Sweet Caroline accepts her half of the card, clips it into her passport and walks straight onto the gangway. With the transaction quickly and efficiently executed, yet another of my carefully and swiftly thought out plans this morning goes awry. Didn’t catch her full name.

  One in eight chance, Eric . . . don’t lose sight of the odds, I try to pump some optimism into my quickly deflating excitement. Like a boxer in the ring, my efforts at meeting Sweet Caroline have been pummeled this morning. I adjust my boxing gloves, step back into the ring and give it my all. What more can I do but board the plane and hope for the best.

  Here I go. Wish me luck. I need it.

  2 “She’s Gone”

  I’ve been assigned seat 3C. I step on board and take a deep breath. Familiar with the boarding routine as if on autopilot, I walk through the steps mindlessly. I step into the aircraft, greet the crew at the entranceway; show them my boarding pass and turn to locate my seat. Today, however, I know that once I turn into the cabin there will be someone there that I need to make eye contact with. Which makes me feel so nervous. And childish. But it is also making me feel so alive. I love the chase as much as the next guy, probably more than any other guy, I assure you. But today feels completely different.

  Although the connection is a strong physical one with Sweet Caroline, I also have this unexplainable need to know her. On some level I don’t yet understand, I feel compellingly drawn to her. I know that sounds all new-age coming from a so-not- new-age kind of guy, but it is the only way I can explain this incredible pull I am feeling in her direction.

  So, I make a right into the cabin. And, she is there. Settled into the first seat of the first row. Seat 1B. Wow! She is even lovelier than I thought. Perfectly set hazel eyes, luminous skin, and a lightly lip glossed mouth to absolutely die for.

  Unfortunately, we don’t make eye contact because she’s looking down. I move down the aisle at a snail’s pace. I settle into my aisle seat in the final row of first class, two rows behind her, on the opposite side. From here, I have a forty-five degree angle view of her. I settle into my seat and notice that the business traveller next to me is already devouring his copy of the Globe and Mail, one of Canada’s national newspapers.

  The seat next to Sweet Caroline is still unoccupied. How I would give up my firstborn to be assigned that seat right now. With the rest of the passengers boarding at this time, my view of Sweet Caroline is temporarily obstructed. What the hell has come over me this morning? Googly-eyed and weak-limbed around a pretty woman has never been my style. In my thirty-two years, I certainly have had my share of women. Some I’ve fallen for more than others but never have I had this type of reaction before, to a woman I haven’t even spoken to.

  By the time the crowd clears, I see that a woman traveler has taken the seat beside Caroline. Damn. Today is just not my day. The woman and Sweet Caroline are chatting, a bit too softly for me to hear anything they are saying. That’s real stalker behavior. Attempted eavesdropping, your Honor, I plead guilty.

  The flight attendant delivers some refreshments before takeoff. My much-desired passenger in 1B accepts a glass of water, as do I when it is my turn. I sip my water and continue to stare at her. Man, I don’t even recognize myself anymore. The flight attendants have just received word to prepare the cabin for takeoff. I note that I’ve exactly one hour to make contact with Sweet Caroline.

  That’s when the theme from the classic 70s movie Rocky begins humming in my head. You know, about the eye of the tiger. I check my watch. It’s 10:40 A.M. precisely. Sweet Caroline is fastened into her seat with ear buds secured in her ears tuned into the airline radio, I’m assuming. A classy woman, listening to classical music. My sense of self-awareness is acute enough to know that I‘ve been staring in the direction of 1B long enough. Before the man next to me alerts the authorities upon arrival in Toronto of the freak in seat 3D, I make myself look busy.

  Once in mid-air, I pull out my iPad and start to read some work documents I’ve been meaning to read for some time. In between articles, I look up at Sweet Caroline. From the angle I’m looking at her, I can see her eyes closed and the buds still resting in her ears. Her hands are sitting in her lap. Her left leg, so long and lithe, crosses over her right leg leaving her left foot dangling seductively in the aisle. Seductively to me, that is, the things I’d love to do with that foot . . . and those legs . . . those hips . . . those . . . I am getting way too ahead of myself now.

  Three articles still left to read and right now I couldn’t care less about any of them. The time on the screen says 10:55 A.M., already. Shit. I’ve got less than an hour to make a move. Any move. I need to engage my Sweet Caroline somehow, some way in less than three quarters of an hour. I channel Barry White for inspiration.

  Alas, my light bulb moment comes. Immediately, I unbuckle my seatbelt, get up and walk the few steps it takes to get to the front of the plane. She’s sitting there to my left, eyes closed, still listening to music. Her left foot, sexy as ever, sways back and forth slightly. She looks like an angel. A Victoria’s Secret angel. Perfection. My insides twitch being in such proximity to her. I could only imagine how I’d feel if I actually touched her.

  Now, back to what feels like my five hundredth plan of the day. The restroom door is on my left. If I turn the door latch and gently swing the door open, hoping that the door ‘accidentally’ hits t
he top of Sweet Caroline’s foot, then she’d open her eyes. If she opened her eyes then we’d make eye contact. If we made eye contact then I could apologize to her. If I could apologize to her then I could flirt. If I could flirt with her a bit then who knows where that could lead? It’s a plan. I’m going to give it a go.

  Right hand on door latch. Check. Turn latch. Check. So far, so good. Door starts to open. Check. Swing door with a little extra force. Yes. All systems are a go. Door hits beautiful woman’s foot. Check! Sweet Caroline does not open her eyes. What! She’s asleep!

  I slip into the vacant restroom, lock the door and turn to face myself in the mirror. You sorry little thing, you! What the hell are you doing? Playing games like a teenage boy? Man up! You’ve done this a million times before. Go up to the woman and just start talking to her.

  I wash my hands and dry them using the paper towels on the basin. I exit the restroom more calmly than when I entered it. Sleeping beauty is still asleep.

  Back at my seat, I refasten my seatbelt and glance at my watch. 11:00 A.M. My neighbor to the left is still memorizing today’s paper. I do what comes the most natural thing to do; I resume staring at Sweet Caroline. I am honing in on my newfound skill at stalking this beautiful woman. I watch her every movement and mentally document her every nuance. I think about the effect she is having on me and find it pretty exhilarating. And that’s when I spot it. Right there on the sole of her ballet flat shoe: The hugest wad of gum I have ever seen.

  Inspiration comes to me once again. I summon the flight attendant named Deb over for some assistance. She willingly obliges.

  I sit and wait.

  Moments later, the ever-helpful Deb hands Sweet Caroline my handwritten note. I watch Caroline extend her exquisite hand to accept it. I specifically asked Deb not to point out whom the note was from. Just hand it to her and walk away was my instruction. Fortunately, Deb is on her game this morning. Poker-faced, she taps Caroline lightly on her shoulder, slips the note in her hand and walks towards the back of the plane, grinning at me as she passes my seat.

  I was, for the first time in at least eighteen years, biting my fingernails. And scratching my head. But not at the same time. I self-check . . . how am I feeling? Foolish. Immature. Playful. But above all, very, very excited. Though I have to do everything not to look it. Play it cool, I remind myself. Breathe. Look busy. Don’t stare.

  She opens the note and reads it. As quick as day, she looks underneath her left shoe. Then, slowly, she shyly turns to her right and shifts around to look behind her. She glances at the seat numbers indicated on the panels above. And then we lock eyes. At first, she grins at me, which magically turns into a mega watt smile. We lock eyes. Just like that, I smile the widest, brightest smile I am capable of. My insides turn to mush. I am gone! Then, I watch her as she bends down and reaches into her bag and pulls out a tissue. With her left leg now propped at a 90-degree angle over her right knee, she starts to pick at the wad of gum beneath her shoe. She pulls and tugs at it a bit in order to peel it all off in one piece. I don’t take my eyes off the operation.

  Success. The big pink blob of gum no longer taints the sole of her shoe. She folds the tissue containing the gum up a few times and looks around for somewhere to toss it. She settles on putting it in the empty water glass sitting in the wall envelope in front of her. Again, she reaches back down into her bag. I watch as her body moves towards the left side of her seat as if she is leaning to look out the window. I lose sight of the right side of her body completely. Shit. What’s she doing?

  The captain comes on the speaker asking flight attendants to prepare the cabin for final descent into Toronto. As I am packing away my iPad, I note the time and realize that I still haven’t filled out the Canadian Customs card. With the click of my pen, I fill in all of the familiar lines and spaces . . . name, address, passport number, country of birth, and declaration of goods. As I am signing my name on the signature line of the card, Deb taps me on the shoulder. With a smirk on her face and a twinkle in her eye, she passes me a folded up note.

  I glance over at Sweet Caroline. She is removing the ear buds from her ears and twirling the cord around her hand and not looking back. Is that a good sign, I wonder? Or maybe a bad one if the note is basically telling me to get lost. With sweaty palms and a shortness of breath, I give a nod to Deb thanking her for the note. Words, at this moment, aren’t going to work for me. Which is ironic because all my life words have never really deserted me. In fact, I’ve been complimented many times on how articulate and artfully conversational I am. You have a way with words, my teachers used to tell me. I have an impressive vocabulary, an old girlfriend once noted on our first date. Or, maybe everyone was just trying to tell me that I talk too much? It’s true, I do admit, I love words, playing with words and learning new words, which may explain why I love song lyrics so much. Minimal words expressing truths to music. Poetry to my ears. I can spend hours online reading song lyrics to all sorts of genres of music. I think it’s nothing short of genius the way a songwriter chooses the words they do to make a melodic masterpiece. The Beatles, U2, Jay-Z all up there with the likes of Shakespeare and Dickens, in my books. Now, back to words on this page. Sweet Caroline’s note.

  Like a little boy opening his gifts on Christmas morning, I unfold the note as fast I can. My note to her is written on the top of the page. I re-read that first.

  Hi there passenger in Seat 1B,

  Just wanted to let you know that you have the hugest wad of gum stuck on the bottom of your left shoe.

  Yours truly,

  Fellow Passenger in 3D

  And now, her response.

  To the very observant passenger seated in 3D,

  Thank you for helping me to avoid a very sticky situation. What keen observation skills you have.

  Recently unstuck passenger in 1B

  What a witty reply. I reread it at least forty-eight more times. I fold the note carefully and tuck it in the right inside breast pocket of my jacket smiling the whole time. I turn and look out the window as the plane makes a rather fast descent. With a few bumps on the runway, the aircraft has landed. The brakes start screeching to a halt and we are all pushed back into our seats. Within no time, the aircraft arrives at the gate. The unclicking of seat belts can be heard throughout the cabin as soon as the captain removes the fasten seat belt signs. And throughout it all, Sweet Caroline has not looked back once.

  In the first class cabin, we all rise out of our seats and prepare our bags and belongings for departure. With all of the activity around us, I can barely see Sweet Caroline. As soon as one of the attendants releases the latch on the aircraft door, Sweet Caroline is out the door. No looking back. Just like that. Gone. I am crushed.

  A couple of passengers leave right after her. I am stuck in the aisle behind a woman who is struggling with her stubborn carryon bag that refuses to stand on its own wheels. In an effort to balance the bag, she tosses the bag first towards the right and then towards the left. I offer to help her but she gives me hands-off-my-stuff vibe so I retreat. After what feels like a millennium, I’m set free.

  With a sincere thank you and a quick wink to my gal Deb who is standing at the doorway of the airplane, I step off the plane and begin the long walk through the terminal. Feeling shrunken and disappointed, I must say. So close yet so far from meeting Sweet Caroline. I try to analyze what went wrong. Maybe we were ill- fated from the start since our seats were so far away from one another? Maybe she is in a relationship and didn’t take my bait? Maybe she didn’t find me attractive? Maybe I should have acted more my age and just gone up to her and started talking to her? Whatever. She is gone.

  Climbing up the gangway I pull out my iPhone to check for texts and emails. There’s an email with an alert from Cate, sent only a minute ago. With no reason given, the 2:30 P.M. meeting has been postponed until 9:00 A.M. tomorrow morning. I reply to the email confirming receipt. This is the best news I’ve gotten all day. Now I can skip going in to the office a
nd can work from home. I’m not in the mood to be working with others today. As I hit the send button to reply to her email, someone touching my arm sidelines me. I look up from my iPhone and towards the right. It’s Sweet Caroline!

  “I thought I’d wait up for the passenger in 3D,” she says and the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen lights up her face. Holy shit! She waited for me.

  “After all,” she continues demurely, “he did save me and the entire aircraft from a potentially delayed deplaning experience.”

  Wow. What a beautifully constructed, intelligent sentence. This is a woman with a brain and looks. Yum. And a girl who has a way with words . . . when I can’t seem to find any. I’m speechless. I simply smile.

  “Glad I could help,” is all I can manage. What the hell was that? Glad I could help? Lame, very lame.

  Sweet Caroline or should I call her Princess Caroline takes her place beside me and we begin walking side by side through the terminal. She walks with the elegance of a royal; head held high, with a humble yet self-confident poise about her. Beside her, I feel taller. Maybe that’s because I’m actually floating on cloud nine right now.

  “Are you here in Toronto on business?” she turns to ask me while checking out my business attire: navy suit, white shirt, and navy tie. Standard stuff. Why do I feel so nervous with her watching me? Is there drool dripping down my chin? Do I have a coffee stain on my suit jacket? I know I’m scratching my head right now.

  “Actually, I am returning from a business trip. Toronto is home for me,” I clarify. “What about you? Are you here on business?” I ask her in return even though I think I already know the answer. I hope.