“I watch/ the patchwork farms/ slowly fade/ into the oceans arms/ calm down/ release your cares/ the stale taste of recycled air” – the postal service
There is a woman. Small, she’s maybe 5’0″ at most, fragile; as old as my Bita. They wheeled her onto the plane, helped her to her seat and she’s sat and watched the passengers pass her to their seats. Antonio Banderas (just channel him for a minute) waltzes over to sit next to her and doesn’t stop as he readies his things. And oh the charm! White linen blazer, white Panamanian hat, fly suede shoes, beautiful hair, smooth Spanish that just feels like satin on your ears- and he’s attentive and curious, full on charmin’ on grandma. He pulls out all the stops on the woman to his other side, introducing himself “yo soy Colombiano, de Medellin”, with the half smile and the twinkle eyes.
But every time he turns to grandma… he jut charms. Like a pro mamas boy, he helps her to the bathroom at one point, really gentle and caring. Towards the end of the flight, he’s turned the row into his living room and for all intents and purposes, sitting around enjoying a nice afternoon with his family. And he never forgets grandma. When lady by the window offers her hand sanitizer, he takes the bottle and turns to abuela, giving her some before using it himself.
The captain announces the descent and Antonio grabs abuela’s hand and talks with her… asking her questions, making her laugh, letting her tell her stories. Her body language changes-she’s moving her hand excitedly, crossed her legs! jaja the chuckle! The shades are up and they’re looking out the window, and for all the world they are a mother and her son, in a plane coming home from their travels.
But she’s traveling alone, clinging to the hand of a handsome stranger who smelled of cologne and family.
We touch down. The man laughs. The plane explodes in applause. Not your ordinary flight.
Fly Copa. It apparently attracts the loveliest and rarest of people.