Had just taken aisle seat 19C on a connecting flight from Charlotte to Nashville when a couple paused in the aisle in front of me. 

“Excuse us,” said a smiling lady wearing a Chuckie from Child’s Play t-shirt. 

Which I accepted as winning the airplane neighbor lottery. 

I stepped into the aisle so they could claim their window (his) and middle (hers) seats. 

“How are you doing today?” Lady Chuckie asked politely once they got settled.

I wasn’t prepared to be gregarious, which showed in my response. 

I took her question a little too seriously … actually thought for a second … taking inventory. 

“I think I’m awesome,” I said. 

Sounded like a dumb thing to say, but it was true. 

Felt obligated to reciprocate her politeness. 

“Is Nashville your final destination?” I asked. 

“Salem,” she said. 

“Well-played,” I said, autonomically fist-bumping Lady C and her travel companion. 

Asked ‘em if they’d ever been before. 

“Never,” she said. 

Her window-seat companion chimed in, “We’re going for our anniversary. We wanted to go some place we’ve never been.” 

My un-gregarious morning self suddenly found itself rooting for a pair of total strangers.

“I swear, the key to any long relationship is to keep chasing new things together,” I said, suddenly gregarious. “Congratulations.”

I asked how many years they’d been married. 

“Ten,” they both said. 

“That’s a big deal,” I said. “How long you goin’ away for?” 

“Four days,” said the husband. 

“So, we have three kids,” Mom explained. “This is the first time we’ve been away by ourselves in 10 years … literally since our honeymoon.”

My heart filled full for my neighbors.

I remember those days … er … years. 

I’m not sure Karry and I managed more than a couple local weekend getaways the whole time our kids were young. 

And when we did our hearts usually stayed home. 

We’d spend the majority of our time together talking about the kids. 

After takeoff I cracked open my laptop to do some work stuff. Didn’t interact while we were in the air.

Once we landed, though … I noticed that both my neighbors were immediately on their phones, texting and talking. 

I wasn’t paying attention, so it took me a minute to catch on … that they were coordinating efforts. 

Calling family and friends.

Putting her phone down, my next-seat neighbor turned to me. 

“There’s a lockdown at our kids’ school,” she said to me. 

My heart sank. 

“Oh no,” I said.

All the anticipation and joy they shared on takeoff melted into concern for their kids.

If she could have Mom would’ve had the pilot turn the effing plane back around. 

“It sounds like you’ve got good coverage, though” I said. 

She said a neighbor was already in a long line of cars at the elementary school to pick up their kids. Grandparents were standing by to receive once the neighbor dropped them off.

“Of course it happens while …,” Mom said, the sudden onset of guilt keeping her from finishing the sentence. 

My heart broke for them and all the families going through a version of what they were going through.

I asked if all three of their kids were in school. 

Yep, same elementary school, she said — fifth grade, second grade and kindergarten.

She confessed that before they left, she wrote notes to each of the kids’ teachers. 

You know, with instructions.

Couldn’t help herself.  

“I even used Chat GPT to make ‘em shorter,” she said. “I didn’t want to sound too crazy.” 

No mothers I know would find that the least bit crazy. 

Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop a mom from being a mom.

Checking their feeds they learned that all of the school districts in their area — not just theirs — were initiating lockdowns and early dismissals. 

They didn’t have any specific information about the situation or reason. 

The not knowing was gut-wrenching.

I mean, damn this world sometimes. 

Though I couldn’t imagine what they were going through, I knew how sick and helpless Karry and I would feel if we were in their middle and window seats. 

About as helpless as I felt sitting next to them. 

All the words in my head felt cheap.

I sat silent.

I mean, I need to believe in a world where Mom and Dad get to be Mr. and Mrs. Chuckie for four days every 10 years. 

A couple minutes went by.

My un-gregarious self took the silence seriously. 

I thought for a second … taking inventory.

I closed my eyes to make sure I got as close as I could to what my sunken heart wanted to say. 

 “Only because I would regret not saying this …” I began. 

“The act of choosing to invest in yourselves, in each other … is not a selfish act.”

I gave it a couple seconds to sink in, for me as much as them.  

“It’s a selfless act. Because if you’re better for each other, then you’ll be better for the people that you love.”

Seats 19 D and E stayed quiet for a second … long enough for the voice in my head to start to tell me it was a dumb thing to ….

“I really needed to hear that right now,” Lady C said. “Thank you.” 

“I know it doesn’t make it any easier,” I said. “But it’s true.” 

It’s one of the truest things that I have come to learn. 

Just wish I would’ve learned it a little sooner.

Which was why I said it out loud to a couple travelers 10 years in and counting.

It took forever for the crew to unload the plane after we landed, by which time Mom and Dad declared that they really needed a pee and a beer, respectively … the first slow signs they were returning to themselves. 

The kids had been picked up. Grandparents were probably still hugging them.  

Later I read in the paper that the whole thing had been a swatting incident.

I mean, damn this world sometimes.

“It was nice talking with you,” Lady C said, when we all finally stood up. 

“I’m rooting for you in all things,” I said.

By which I meant hoping they spend a good four days alone together … thinking about their kids.