The airport seemed colder that day, or maybe it was just the way people stared at me as I walked by. I kept my head down, clutching my boarding pass like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. My face still bore the raw scar from an accident that changed everything just a month ago.
The wound was healing, but it had already become part of who I was. Most people no longer saw me—they saw the scar. The accident was sudden. I’d been a passenger in a car when we were hit. The airbag deployed, but a shard of glass tore deep into my face. The doctors acted fast, stitching me up with skill, but they couldn’t prevent the jagged line that now ran down my face from forming. My dermatologist called it “early scar tissue.”
It was shiny and red, stretching from my hairline down across my brow, cutting through my cheek, and stopping near my jaw. Part of my eyebrow would never grow back, and the deepest part of the scar left an indentation in my cheek. For weeks, I wore bandages that covered most of my face. At first, I avoided mirrors altogether. But as the wounds closed and the bandages came off, I had to face the reality. This was me now. My friends did their best to lift my spirits.
They called it badass, even edgy. They said it made me look fierce. I tried to believe them. But when strangers stared at me or quickly turned away, it was hard not to feel the sting. Healing took time. Every day, I carefully applied the creams my dermatologist recommended, making sure to keep the skin clean and hydrated. But the angry red lines and slick shine of the scar didn’t disappear. I knew they would fade eventually, but it felt like forever away.
On this particular day, I boarded the plane early, hoping to avoid as many eyes as possible. I slipped into my window seat, took a deep breath, and put my headphones on. Closing my eyes, I wished for a smooth, quiet flight. I dozed off for a bit, but loud voices woke me. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I heard a man mutter. “These are our seats?” His tone was bitter, irritated. “Row 5B and 5C,” a woman snapped back. “Just sit down.” There was a lot of huffing and shifting as the couple settled next to me.
I kept my eyes shut tight, praying they’d ignore me. “I can’t believe this,” the man said. “We pay for these seats and end up next to—” He stopped short. “Next to what?” the woman asked. Then she saw me. “Oh. You’ve got to be joking.” My chest tightened. I stayed still, willing them to stop. “Hey, lady!” the man barked suddenly. Slowly, I opened my eyes and turned toward him.
He flinched when he saw my scar, then scowled. “Can’t you cover that up or something?” I froze, stunned. “Tom,” the woman hissed, pulling her sweater up over her nose. “That’s disgusting. How did they even let her on board?” “Exactly,” Tom growled. “This is a public place. People shouldn’t have to see that.” My face burned with embarrassment. I wanted to explain, but nothing came out. “Are you just going to sit there?” the woman sneered. Then Tom flagged down a flight attendant. “Hey! Can you do something about this? My girlfriend is freaking out.” The flight attendant arrived quickly, calm and professional. “Is there a problem, sir?” Tom pointed at me. “Yeah, there’s a problem. Look at her! It’s upsetting my girlfriend. Move her to the back or something.” The attendant glanced at me, her face softening briefly before turning back to them. “Sir, every passenger is entitled to their seat.
Is there anything I can help you with?” “I just told you!” Tom snapped. “She’s gross! She should have to move or cover up.” “I can’t even look at her,” the woman said, gagging dramatically. “I’ll throw up.” The flight attendant stood tall, her tone turning firm. “Sir, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to lower your voices. This behavior is unacceptable.” Tom scoffed loudly. “Behavior? What about her behavior?” The attendant ignored him and crouched near me. “Miss, are you alright?” I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’ll be right back,” she said and walked toward the cockpit. I sat there frozen, staring at the seatback in front of me. I could hear whispers from nearby rows. The captain’s voice soon crackled over the intercom.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “harassment or discrimination of any kind will not be tolerated. Please treat your fellow passengers with dignity and respect.” The flight attendant returned, composed as ever. “Mr. and Ms.,” she said to the couple, “you’ll need to move to seats 22B and 22C.” “What? No!” Tom barked. “Sir, this isn’t up for discussion,” she replied firmly. “Your behavior has disrupted the flight.” Grumbling, they gathered their things and shuffled to the back. As they passed through the aisle, clapping broke out. First a few people, then more joined in. I bit my lip, holding back tears.
Not of shame, but relief. The flight attendant returned. “Miss, I’m sorry you experienced that,” she said gently. “We have an open seat in business class. Would you like to move?” “I don’t want to be a bother,” I whispered. “You’re not,” she assured me. “Please, let us take care of you.” I nodded and followed her to the new seat. She brought me coffee and cookies. I sat by the window, watching clouds drift by, feeling the tension fade. For the first time in weeks, I let myself cry quietly. My friends were right. I was still me—maybe even stronger. And as the plane soared ahead, I finally felt something I’d thought I’d lost. Hope.
