With swollen rolling suitcases and howling babies, the center aisle of Flight 404 was packed with harried passengers. A ridiculously hairy man in a coral Hawaiian shirt leaned over Frenchie’s aisle seat to reach the overhead compartment. His furry pannus whacked her forehead. Frenchie righted her glasses and leaned towards the window seat.

“God this entire plane smells like an Italian hoagie in an used gym sock,” Frenchie muttered to the oldster by the window seat. “Excuse me.”

Frenchie fished for her AirPods and neck pillow. Hawaiian shirt moved down the aisle and an older couple in matching sweatsuits open the overhead compartment above Frenchie again.

“Ladies and gentlemen please move to the back. There is plenty of storage in the rear of the plane,” the flight attendant said urging passengers deeper. “Please clear the aisle for the beverage cart.”

Waiting for her edible to kick in, Frenchie adjusted her sleep mask on her forehead. She playfully nudged the old man by the window.

“Make way for $14 turkey jerky and five buck almonds. Wahoo,” Frenchie said.

For the first time Frenchie looked at her row mate. Thin and wizened the man was in an old fashioned uniform. Frenchie felt the man at her elbow was a window to the past.

He turned his gray washed face to Frenchie and fixed her with a watery stare.

“I remember Champagne service over the Rockies to celebrate the end of prohibition, I remember the salty bite of caviar over Stockholm and leg of lamb with cigars in seaplanes. I hope the captain remembers to turn on the autopilot over the Everglades,” the old man said.

Without another word the man turned back to the window with a papery rustle. Frenchie watched as the man fades in and out before vanishing completely. She froze as a scream bubbled to the lips. Frantically she clawed at her seat belt and raced to the exit.