No, not a relationship that survived the trip. The most compelling of the relationships I’ve ever formed on a plane was in the 1960s on a plane ride from Chicago to Cleveland. Sitting next to me was an attractive woman about my own age; we exchanged a few pleasantries and then began reading our books. After a while we encountered bad weather and the plane began bumping up and down and we realized we were more or less aimlessly flying around. She and I began to talk about our lives and she told me she was married and had four young children and a serious, possibly fatal autoimmune disease and that she went to Cleveland once a month for treatment.

A lot of time passed before the pilot announced we were landing at some airport far from our destination and that we would all be let off the plane and called back when the weather cleared. She and I went into the airport and had a Coke and talked some more about her illness, her husband and children. Very soon, we were told to board the plane again, that we could go on to Cleveland. We took off and again, started bouncing all over God’s heaven. She and I held hands and as the time went by — way too much time — we talked softly, whispering our complaints to each other about the silence of the pilots. The other passengers on the full plane were totally silent … you would have thought the plane was empty. My friend and I continued holding hands as I thought to myself how ironic it was that this poor lovely woman was worried about dying of her disease but instead was going to die with me on the plane.

Finally, after a couple of hours, the pilot announced that we had been flying around over various states but that we were going to be able to land in a few minutes in Cleveland. Still the bumping was such that no one spoke or made a sound … until we landed. And then we all burst into applause and cheers and my friend and I laughed and hugged and said good-bye.