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Trading Love Notes With My Wife

A true story of romance, subterfuge, and penguins

My wife and I were separated recently on a long-haul flight. She was in Economy, and I was in Business Class. We’d booked two economy seats, but I’d hurt my back a couple of weeks before the flight, and I was worried about how it was going to react to the nine-hour journey, so when we got to the counter I asked about upgrading.

I figured we wouldn’t be able to afford it, but I thought it was worth asking. It turned out they only had one business class seat left, and it was much cheaper than expected. My wife, who is a saint, insisted I take it.

I was wracked with guilt, but I find being wracked with guilt much better than being wracked with pain, so I acquiesced.

Before you think too poorly of me, I should point out the reason for this trip was to look after my mother for a couple of weeks. She had just broken her pelvis, and a working back was a requirement of the job.

Business class was sweet! I was in my own little pod. The seat was much comfier than economy and came with a real pillow and a blanket. The big attraction for me and my back was it could recline fully into a bed.

I also had a much bigger screen to watch movies on and a nice set of headphones to listen to them with. And there were lots of little cubby holes to store stuff in, a vanity mirror, and a little bag of stuff, including socks, earplugs, and lip balm.

I hadn’t been in my pod for long before the air hostess came by with a flute of champagne and a menu.

Once we were airborne, I stood up in my pod and stretched a bit. The stewardess came by again to ask if I was okay.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I said. “I just have a sore back.” The guilt hadn’t quite gone away, and I felt compelled to explain, “That’s actually why I upgraded. My wife is back in economy. There was only one business seat left. I wouldn’t normally abandon her like this.”

“Do you want me to go check on her?” She asked. “What seat is she in?”

“Oh my God! I don’t even remember!” I said. “She should be easy to spot. Just look for the most beautiful woman on the plane. And she’ll probably be knitting. Does that help?”

The stewardess laughed. “Not really.”

“I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I said. “Do you mind if I go behind the curtain and look for her? My back could use the walk.”

“Go ahead.”

I found my spouse in seat 30C. We chatted briefly. Although she was, indeed, the most beautiful woman on the plane, she did resemble a sardine sitting there. I was glad I was in business — guilty but glad.

Once I returned to my seat, I told the stewardess I’d found her and what seat she was in.

A while later, while I was eating my meal and watching Asteroid City, the stewardess showed up with a note from my wife.

“You guys are so cute!” she said.

Doing great Knitting and watching lovely films Do not be guilty Enjoy! Love you very much

The note was a wonderful surprise. It was written on what had probably been the placemat for her meal. Here in business, we had proper white tablecloths. I wrote a reply on a paper napkin and asked the stewardess to send it back.

To Dr. Vicki, Seat 30C, an airplane approximately 35,000 feet above Baffin Island, Loverhead! Thanks so much for your note! I wish I’d brought some decent stationery to continue our correspondence. This will have to do. Although we now are separated by class, our love will endure! Yours, across all boundaries. Yanda

The notes reminded me of how our courtship began almost 30 years ago.

We met at college in our hometown. She was studying Dance. I was studying Journalism. I’d just returned from an internship at a small daily paper on Vancouver Island. It was convocation day. I wasn’t graduating — like an idiot, I’d dropped a required course — but the rest of my class was.

As I drove by my friend Dave’s apartment, I noticed his car outside. I stopped and banged on the door. He answered, wearing his bathrobe and rubbing his face.

“I thought you weren’t due until tomorrow,” I said.

“I drove all night. Just got to bed about an hour ago.” He yawned, and his bathrobe fell open. I averted my eyes as he gathered it back up.

“You planning to go to convocation?” I asked.

“Is that today? Hadn’t planned on it. Are you going?”

“I’m not graduating,” I said.

Dave nodded.

“Tell you what,” I said. “How about I make us some coffee?”

Once Dave was a bit more caffeinated, he was amenable to the idea of graduating, but only if I came with him.

When we got to the Hall, I discovered we had to give our names in order to collect our graduation gowns. I wasn’t graduating, so my name wouldn’t be on the list. I knew that another friend of ours would still be on his internship, though. And he definitely was graduating, so I gave his name instead of my own and collected his gown

We filed into the auditorium alphabetically by programme. Dance came right before Journalism. Dave and I had made a few friends with the dancers. One of them was a redhead named Vicki. She ended up sitting just a couple of rows right in front of me.

I’d first noticed Vicki in a dance production in which she wore a flowing white dress and mimicked a moth caught in a web. There was a lot of sexy writhing. It was memorable.

We waved at each other across the rows, but it wasn’t possible to have a conversation. About 15 minutes later, someone passed me a copy of the programme on which Vicki had written.

Didn’t think I’d see you here. Are you as bored as I am? Can you tell me a story?

Well, I had been a bit bored, but I wasn’t now. I wrote a little story on the same programme and had someone pass it back to her.

Once upon a time, there were two bored penguins in the midst of a huge crowd of other penguins. They made a raft out of the funny little square hats all the penguins were wearing. And sailed away on a grand adventure.

A few minutes later the programme came back again with her phone number on it.

That’s a great story. You’ll have to tell me how it ends sometime.

“Wow!” I thought. “This is great!”

There wasn’t much room left on the programme, but I did my best to finish the story in the space that was left.

After many days at sea, the penguins landed on a little island. No one else was on the island, but there was a pretty little beach hut with two hammocks on it. There was also a freezer full of tasty fishcakes. And the penguins lived happily ever after.

I felt pretty pleased with myself. It was a good story with a happy ending. It’s possible our own story might have ended there, but fortunately, my future wife wasn’t quite as thick as I was.

The programme came back one last time. She had circled her phone number and written a message in big black letters overtop of my carefully crafted story.

YOU ARE TERRIBLE AT TAKING A HINT! THIS IS MY PHONE NUMBER! KEEP THIS PIECE OF PAPER! AND PHONE ME!!!!

I kept the piece of paper. And I collected one more. When my friend’s name was called, I walked across the stage and collected his diploma. The department head looked very confused but shook my hand as he gave it to me.

Thirty years later, I still don’t have a diploma of my own, but I am married to an amazing woman who still sends me love notes.

If you liked this story, maybe you’ll also like this one which also involves dancing and romance. I know I did.