Homeward Bound

Right before the jetway door closed, I scrambled aboard the plane going from Los Angeles to Chicago, lugging my laptop and overstuffed briefcase. It was the first leg of an important business trip a few weeks before Christmas, and I was already running late. I had a ton of work to catch up on. Half wishing, half praying, I muttered, "Please God, do me a favor: Let there be an empty seat next to mine. I don't need any distractions." I was on the aisle in a two-seat row. Across sat a businesswoman with her nose buried in a newspaper. No problem. But in the seat beside mine, next to the window, was a young boy wearing a big red tag around his neck: Minor Traveling Unattended.

The kid sat perfectly still, hands in his lap, eyes straight ahead. He'd probably been told never to talk to strangers. Good, I thought.

Then the flight attendant came by. "Michael, I have to sit down now because we are about to take off," she said the boy. "This nice man will answer any of your questions, okay?"

Did I have a choice? I offered my hand, and Michael shook it twice, straight up and down. "Hi, I'm Jerry," I said. "You must be about seven years old."

"I'll bet you don’t have kids," he responded.

"Why do you think that? Sure I do." I took out my wallet to show him pictures.

"Because I'm six."

"I was way off, huh?"

The captain's voice came over the speakers: "Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff." Michael pulled his seat belt tight and gripped the armrests as the jet engines roared.

I leaned over. "Right about now I usually say a prayer. I ask God to keep the plane safe and to send angels to protect us."

"Amen," he said, then added, "but I'm not afraid of dying… I'm not afraid because my mama's already in heaven."

"I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" he asked, peering out the window as the plane lifted off.

"I'm sorry you don't have your mama here."

My briefcase jostled at my feet, reminding me of all the work I needed to do.

"Look at those boats down there!" Michael said as the plane banked over the Pacific. "Where are they going?"

"Just going sailing, having a good time. And there's probably a fishing boat full of guys like you and me."

"Doing what?"

"Fishing. For sea bass and tuna and halibut. Maybe some mackerel. Does your dad ever take you fishing?"

"I don't have a dad." He didn’t elaborate.

Continued on page 2: Everything the boy owned--in a crumbled grocery bag... »