hate to fly. And I hate breakups. Put those two miseries together and you have my frame of mind as I wait for my flight at the Atlanta airport, on my way to Texas to cry on the shoulder of my best friend. In an unfortunate coincidence, the last place I saw my former beau, a couple of months ago, was RIGHT HERE, at this airport, at the end of a weekend getaway.

Things were great!

You know, until they weren’t.

Feeling very sorry for my pitiful self, I swallow an Ativan and board the plane. I’m pretty sure that this is the one that will, in short order, plummet from the sky and rocket me into oblivion. I find my row, fumble for my crossword puzzles and water bottle, and move out of the way for the young man who smiles and slides past me into the window seat.

We introduce ourselves—his name is Jim—and I tell him that the crossword puzzles are there to help distract me from the fiery end I know is in store for me. He laughs and closes his window shade so that seeing the ground disappear won’t add to my high anxiety. As we begin to taxi, he asks if he can work on the current puzzle with me. “I’m a spelling bee champion,” he says. “I’m good at puzzles.”

My eyes go wide. I’ve never known a spelling bee champion, I tell him. “Now you do,” he grins, and talks of winning competitions when he was a kid. We tear through the puzzle together.

At some point, I realize we’re in the air, and I become less concerned that gravity will pulverize us. “Thank you for that,” I say. “You distracted me.”

“I know,” he smiles. “That’s why I did it.” Then he opens the window shade just a bit, to peek out. He turns to me. “I know you don’t want to look, but if you do, you’ll see an incredible sunset.”

I let him open the shade all the way, and yes, incredible is the right word. The horizon is awash in color and light and everything else is lost in the deep blue of dusk. “Wow,” is all I can say.

We continue to chat. He’s off to visit buddies in San Antonio, while I’m headed to my friend’s house in New Braunfels. We do more puzzles as the plane descends (successfully! woot!). Jim has helped me so much more than he knows. He has distracted me not just from the terror of the plane (potentially) crashing but from the sadness of my relationship (actually) crashing. We wave goodbye and go our separate ways.

I spend a great weekend in New Braunfels; my friend plies me with Tex-Mex food and margaritas and long walks and laughter. When she drops me at the airport, my fear of smashing into the ground is still real, but my smashed-up heart is beginning to mend. I arrive at the crowded gate and look around for an empty seat. And then I hear a voice call out.

“Cora?”

I turn and, yes, it’s Jim, rising from his seat, grinning, and waving me over. My mouth drops open as I wade through a thicket of stretched-out legs and carry-on bags to sit beside him. “What are you doing here?” I ask, laughing.

“I decided to leave early,” he answers. “The friends got to be a bit much.” He reaches into his jacket and retrieves his boarding pass. “Where are you seated?” he asks.

“12B.”

He laughs. “Look: I’m in 12A.”

What? I shake my head. “This must be the biggest coincidence of all time,” I reply.

And so we board. The spelling bee champ closes the window shade, does puzzles with me, chats with me, distracts me from my fear of potentially defective airplanes and overzealous gravity.

And in the Atlanta airport where, in my experience, people disappear forever, we say goodbye.

But this time, I’m smiling.

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Find Cora on Instagram @cora_in_any_language