08 august 2003.

the plane was delayed. we were number twelve on the runway and the storm outside wasn't making the time go faster. next to me, a woman nudges her elbows into mine, taking over the arm rest, making noises indicating how upset she is over the whole ordeal, how could they do this to her, take up all of her time and waste it. i sip my ginger ale from the clear plastic cup and lock eyes with a baby peeking over the seat in front of me. his father is bouncing a neon colored stuffed tucan in his face making surprised sounds, but this isn't any distraction. i know he is too young to comprehend a lot, his brian won't be developed fully for months or years, but in his cornea i see a reflection of myself smiling, and i think, he must understand.

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