Flash Fiction: April 8, 2025
The writing prompt: A romance story that takes place entirely on a 17-hour airplane flight.
Bernice was on her way back to Florida after attending her late husband’s funeral. They had been together for 52 years, almost to the date, when Rocky unexpectedly collapsed of a heart attack. Being the dutiful wife that she was, Bernice had made sure that he was buried in his home country. However, that now meant that she had to endure a 17-hour flight back to their little slice of paradise on the Gulf Coast. She would’ve killed him for making her go through this if he weren’t already dead.
“What’s got you down?” asked the older gentleman in the seat next to her.
It was at that moment that she knew the fatigue could be seen on her face. She forced a polite smile.
“Just this long flight,” she replied. “At my age, the ticket for this sort of thing should just be free.”
The man chuckled to himself, maintaining his gaze down at his magazine. Bernice had noticed his strong New York accent, so it was no surprise when she saw he was reading the Sunday edition of the Times.
His strong jawline had immediately grabbed her attention when she first found her row. He had pleasantly smiled and nodded in her direction while she settled into her seat. The plane had been in flight for hours now, but she vaguely remembered his offer to stow her carry-on bag overhead. Even then, Bernice was already too tired from traveling to reply. Maybe a conversation would perk her up.
“Are you visiting Florida, or do you live there, too?” she asked the man.
“Do I not look like a local to you?” he replied with a wry smile.
“Oh, well, I just noticed you were reading the Times, and—” she began.
“And then you heard my New York accent,” the man chuckled.
Bernice couldn’t help but laugh along with him. It was the first time she had felt joy light up her insides since the funeral. The warmth it brought suddenly made her forget she had been on an airplane for four hours.
“The name’s Harvey,” he said. “I’m from New York, like you thought, but I’ve lived in Daytona since my wife died a few years back. Killed in a car wreck by a drunk driver. Couldn’t live out the rest of my days around there after that, know what I mean?”
Bernice, in fact, didn’t know what Harvey meant, but she knew she would soon find out. It terrified her – the mere thought of continuing her twilight years alone in the same home she had shared with Rocky.
But for the first time in her very long life, she was willing to take a chance.
First, Bernice launched into the story of Rocky’s death. Recalling the recent funeral caused her eyes to well up. The moment wasn’t lost on Harvey, who gently held her hand as she continued talking. It was that small gesture that gave Bernice the courage to keep going – keep opening up to this stranger, who had been nothing but kind to her.
Over the next 13 hours, Bernice and Harvey exchanged photos of their grandchildren. Her heart burst at everything she learned about Harvey’s late wife, who seemed just as sweet as her husband and shared her passion for gardening. Harvey beamed when he heard about Rocky’s decades-old baseball card collection, jokingly asking if it was up for grabs. When Bernice faltered after admitting her newfound fear around her golden years, Harvey finally looked up from his tray table. She immediately fell into his vast, gray eyes and no longer felt any turbulence.