There was a lot of bright light coming through the windows on the plane from Indy to Las Vegas.The little boy in the seat in front of mine pushed the shade up a little and was studying the way his hand glowed red as the light passed through it.
He was a good little boy, maybe four years old. I’d watched his older brother cry and cry at the airport while we waited for our flight. His brother was about six or seven. He seemed to be deeply sad and frightened. He cried quietly.“What if we don’t get a seat?” he asked.
His mother told him that they would be sure to get seats. They’d be allowed to pre-board because the little brother was so little. The older one seemed to be afraid that he wasn’t going to get on with them, that the little brother and mother would go on without him. Even though she’d just said they’d all board together, she saw this too, and reassured him that he’d get to go on at the same time. She was really good with him, but also betrayed a moment of looking near to tears as he tucked his head under her chin and cried silently.How sad for him. How puzzling for his little brother who, afer all, probably won’t find it puzzling at all. It will just be the only way he’s ever known his brother to be.