My seatmates on the flight to Calgary were Liam, six and his sister Bo, four.
We were on a first-name basis before we hit the runway in Toronto.
Fifty-two and fifty-four years separating us in age.
But in aisle 11, seats A, B, and C, we were sharing the same excitement.
They were going to see their grandparents for the first time in two years, and I was visiting my mom for the first time in twenty months.
They were jazzed about other things like the journey to the runway, take-off, and going through the clouds. That was fun.
Bo let out a joyful shriek when the plane began ascending. Her travel companion was a bunny named Bella Luna, worn in places from love and cuddles.
When the plane levelled above the clouds, we all did activities.
They had books and attentive parents.
I turned to my journal and the practice of handwriting a poem daily—because cursive is lovely, doing it is meditative, and it makes for good sentences later.
Liam’s dad read a book to him for one and a half hours, and he was quiet the whole time.
Later he told me he was starting to read a chapter from a book on his own at night.
We marvelled at this. I was the kid who liked to read too.
Bo barfed on the descent.
Lucky I carry a supply of Pur spearmint gum. That worked a trick—good for the ears.
She sat on her mom’s knee—big blue eyes and golden curls. Bella Luna in the crook of her arm.
We parted ways in arrivals.
Their first stop was for ice cream.
Me and my mom went for ice cream too.