She boarded the plane, threw her bag down in the window seat next to mine. Row 5.
I asked, ‘You interested in switching seats? I’d love the window.”
She looked at me over her glasses and said, “Baby, I wrote a song about getting the window seat. It’s the way I roll.”
I said, “Well I wrote a song about falling off a horse, so, big deal. What about switching seats?”
“No.”
“OK, well, I’m Darden.”
“Eryka.”
“You a musician?”
“Yes,” she laughed. “You?”
“So, do you put out records and stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Really? That’s great. You play live?”
‘Yes, 8 months out of the year.” She pulled out her phone. “Here’s a copy of one of my albums.”
I looked.
And damn near fell out of my seat.
“Oh shit, You’re Eryka Badu. Hi. I’m an idiot.”
We talked for three hours straight, DFW to Salt Lake. What a sweetheart.
