She looked like she had never questioned whether she belonged anywhere.
That was when the elderly woman appeared.
A designer handbag rested in the empty window seat beside her.
She moved slowly down the aisle, one hand brushing the seatbacks for balance.
Her navy slacks had been pressed with care. Her cardigan was fastened to the collar. Her white sneakers were clean but worn thin around the toes.
In one hand she carried a small canvas purse.
In the other, a brown paper bag folded neatly at the top.
She moved slowly down the aisle.
She smiled at every passenger she passed.
Most people did not look up.
When she reached the row across from me, she checked her boarding pass.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I believe that’s my seat.”
The woman in white glanced at the paper bag first. Then the sneakers. Then the elderly woman’s face.
“You must be mistaken.”
“I believe that’s my seat.”
The older woman checked again.
“Two F.”
“Coach is farther back.”
