I’m currently on the first leg of what is shaping up to be a really busy flying month for me. I’ve already flown more this year than I’ve flown the last ten years combined. I’m not complaining – flying still seems like magic to me: you get into a steel tube, noise, vibrations, and hours later emerge from the tube in a different part of the world. I guess I’m too much of a roadtrip person – I only believe I’ve arrived somewhere if I’ve passed through (and experienced the passing through) the space between point A and B.
But I digress…
This was mostly composed on my phone flying to Philly, so forgive any typos!

I love flying.

No, I mean it. Some people say they enjoy flying, but for me there aren’t many more peaceful places than in a plane high above the ground. High above the ghosts.

Yes, “I see dead people,” as they say. But there’s a lot of dead people around. Since practically no one can see them, when you make eye contact with them, they know. And from that moment on, they’re not going to leave you alone. Sure, there are ways to get them to go away (though few that don’t make you look like you’re talking to yourself), but as with most inconveniences in life, the best way to deal with them is to avoid them in the first place.

I won’t look directly at anyone until I’m sure they’re living or dead. You’d think that’d be easy, but it’s not. Ghosts are only slightly less distinct around the edges than living people. So, you have to look without, you know, looking. Especially in a crowded place like an airport, it can be exhausting.

But when you get on a plane? Peace!!

I don’t know why there aren’t ghosts on planes – maybe it’s that aircraft don’t stay in service long enough to gather spirits? Maybe it’s the transient nature of passenger aircraft. But in fifteen years of flying heavily for work I haven’t encountered a single ghost.

Until today.

Packed flight, cross country from LAX to JFK. I nearly made eye contact with half a dozen ghosts on my way to my gate, even having to walk through a few to “prove” I can’t see them (and that’s not a comfortable sensation). Get to my aisle seat, window is taken. I look down the line of people still boarding, hoping I hit the lottery and have an open middle seat. The tall, thin man with a spreading bald spot walking down the aisle stops at every row looking for his seat. He stops at my aisle and I look up at him and.. damnit!

“You can see me! Yes!”

I look away quickly and pretend I don’t hear him. He’s not buying it.

“No, no, no,” he said, bouncing with glee. He doesn’t even flinch when the woman walks through him and points to the center seat. I awkwardly stand up, trying not to come into contact with the ghost and yet still do my best to actively ignore him.

“Stop pretending you don’t see me! I know you see me! I’m going to sit here in the aisle and jabber on until you talk to me.”

People were still milling around and trying to stuff an over-sized carry-on bag into an already-full overhead bin to notice me stare the ghost in the eyes and mouth the word, “Wait!”

Surprisingly, he did.

People finished boarding, the plane taxied, the flight attendants gave their safety spiel, we took off, and the pilot hit the seatbelt sign. I made a beeline for the lavatory, followed by the ghost.

I locked the door and he moved through the closed door. I stepped back and the two of us stood nose to ghost nose in that tiny space. “Look,” I said before the ghost could speak. “Yes, I see you. But only I see you up here and I can’t exactly talk to you without looking like a loon and getting placed on a no-fly list. And what the hell are you doing on the plane anyway? I’ve never seen a ghost on a plane.”

A wan smile creased the ghost’s face. “Funny story… I actually died in this bathroom.”

I started with the realization that I was in a bathroom where someone died… and that someone was standing inches from my face. I managed to cross into his space, causing an electric jolt in me and I kicked the door and nearly fell over.

“Sir, are you okay?” came a muffled voice on the other side of the door.

“Yeah, fine… just a second,” I called through the door as I scrambled to my feet. In a whisper to the ghost, “This bathroom?”

The ghost nodded. “Right at the end of the flight. No one noticed until the cleaning crew found my body that night.”

“Yikes…”

“Yeah. And I’ve been here since,” he said, eyes falling off into the distance.

“Huh,” I said and started thinking. “I have no idea how to get you to pass on…”

His eyes snapped back to me. “Pass on? What? No, I like it here. Hanging out, watching movies, catching people’s drama… I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sir?” The muffled voice came back through the door.

“Almost done!” I called. “Oh… okay. Well, then how about I come back here and we can talk a few more times on the flight?”

“I’d like that,” the ghost smiled. “I don’t get to talk much, like I said before. Sorry I was a little over-excited.”

“It’s all good. I understand. And, hey, I’ll see if I can get this flight back when I head home.”

And that’s how I gained a friend at 30,000 feet every time I head to or from New York. And the best part? He knows how to get into the electronics – I’ve been getting bumped to first class every time. Sometimes it pays to be able to see dead people!