“Thank you, Mr. Bachelor, and thanks for listening to an old, nostalgic New Englander. I have enjoyed our conversation.” Our conversation? Wasn’t he doing most of the talking? And whatever happened to that short, restful interlude I had planned?
We were ready to land. You mean your conversa-tion, I caught myself repeating to myself. I wondered how he could have enjoyed ‘talking’ so much. Then again, what I had heard so far seemed to be more interesting than anything I had done of late.
“Have a great time with your family…I mean your family here in Manchester.”
“Thank you. God bless.” How quaint, I thought, but sincere.
“The captain has requested that all seatbelts be fastened. We have begun our descent into Manchester. We’ll be landing in about five minutes. The weather in Manchester is clear and cold…there is a fresh, thin blanket of new snow…”
We exchanged addresses and emails. Seconds later, we were on the tarmac, taxiing toward the terminal. One brief good-bye, then we grabbed our carry-ons and were off. As I followed this intriguing individual up the connecting mobile corridor, I had the strange feeling that I already had become part of his fascinating, grass-roots story, a story that was no doubt yet en train, as the French say.
***
That is how I first met Peter Colman!
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