In March 2001, my running partner, Grace, and I were headed to Los Angeles for the Honda Marathon.
We boarded our plane in Toronto.
We were sitting in the front row, right in front of the flight attendants’ area. Grace had the window seat. I was in the middle. A man of Middle Eastern descent sat in the aisle seat.
Grace loved to talk and would strike up a conversation with just about anyone.
She started talking to the man beside me.
Nothing unusual.
Just everyday things.
“Beautiful day.”
“Hope our flight will be on time.”
He turned toward us and unleashed such hatred in a language I did not understand.
I remember feeling trapped.
I was sitting beside someone whose anger frightened me, although I had no idea why he was so angry.
Grace became quiet.
She looked out the window for the rest of the trip.
Me too.
He said nothing more.
He simply watched what the flight attendants were doing.
Once we were in the air, he began to drink. How many drinks he had, I have no idea. I was not looking his way.
Somewhere halfway, perhaps three-quarters of the way through the flight, he fell asleep.
ON MY SHOULDER!
He was not snoring, but he was breathing heavily.
I was terrified to move.
I sat there, afraid to disturb him.
Shortly before we landed, a scuffle broke out across the aisle between a man and a lady.
The flight attendant intervened.
It woke him.
We arrived in Los Angeles, got off the plane and went on to the marathon, with all the fun, the struggles and the amazing experiences that came with it.
And I forgot about that horrible, frightening man.
Until September 11, 2001.
Years later, as the investigation into the terrorist attacks unfolded, I learned that some of the men involved in the plot had taken cross-country flights in the months before the attacks as part of their preparations.
And I remembered him.
I remembered sitting beside him for five hours.
I remembered the anger.
I remembered him watching the flight attendants.
I remembered him sleeping on my shoulder.
And I wondered.
Who was that man?
Was he simply an angry stranger having a very bad day?
Or was there something more to him?
I will never know.
I have sometimes wondered if the man sitting beside me that day could have been connected in some way to what was being planned.
I cannot say that he was.
I only know what I experienced.
Five hours sitting beside a man who frightened me.
Five hours I had completely forgotten about until the world changed on September 11, 2001.
Today marks 25 years since that terrible day.
I cannot imagine what the people aboard those four flights experienced.
I cannot imagine what their families experienced when they learned they were gone.
And I cannot imagine the fear and heartbreak of all those who were caught in what happened that morning twenty-five years ago.
My heart, my thoughts, my prayers and my love go out to the victims,
their families, the first responders and all those whose lives were forever changed on September 11, 2001.
~ Patrice
© Patrice Clarkson 2026
Patrice’s Art & Poetry Blog 