Seat 6A. The prime seat on the airplane (at least according to some surveys.) The plane was nearly full and the flight attendants worked to get the cabin ready for take off. The weary traveler looked over at the empty seat next to his.
Nirvana.
He rested his eyes and took a deep, germ-filled breath. Today had been a living hell. His company was on the cusp of yet another round of layoffs and maybe his job was on the line this time. He had already laid off 50 excellent workers. He prayed for forgiveness. Some people loved this sort of thing — they loved having their bonuses padded. Not him. He knew how it destroyed the lives of everyone who he handed “the” envelope to. Seventy hours a week, 52 weeks a wear since the Great Recession began in 2008. He took another breath. He was the angel of death. And his business’ blood was on his hands.
This plane couldn’t get into the air soon enough. The bad cab ride. The full-body check by the TSA agent. But at least he had the empty seat next to him. In this era of packed flights, this was like winning the air-travel lottery. He smiled at the thought of getting to stretch out.
But then it came on board.
It was an energetic, brown-haired five-year-old named Max.
He bounded up the aisle, whacking every First-Class passenger with his Mickey Mouse stuffed doll. HERE’S MY SEAT!”
The kid had apparently learned to talk in a sawmill.
The Flight Attendant walked behind the boy. “Sir, this young man is traveling alone and will be seating next to you.”
The traveler plunged from heaven to hell faster than you could say, “airsick.”
The boy sat next to the traveler and hit him in the face with the Mickey Mouse. “HEY, WATCH IT. YOU HIT MY MICKEY.”
The traveler wanted a Scotch. Badly.
The cabin door was shut and the flight attendant did the obligatory emergency instructions. The attendant helped Max put on his seatbelt.
“WHAT’S YOUR NAME? MINE’S MAX AND I LIKE TO COLOR.”
The traveler wished he was invisible.
“WHAT’S YOUR NAME? ARE YOU HARD OF HEARING?”
Helen Keller could have heard this kid.
“Mr. Bob.” the traveler said reluctantly. Why God? Why did you put this urchin next me? Especially after today.
“WHAT DO YOU DO? I AM IN KINDERGARTEN.”
Mr. Bob looked at the boy clutching the Mickey Mouse and thought about answering honestly. “I ruin people’s lives. I destroy companies for greedy executives’ bonuses.” But instead, he meekly said, “I’m in human resources.”
The little boy sized up his bigger traveling companion. “WHAT DOES HUMAN RESOURCES DO? DO YOU MAKE PEOPLE? IS THIS YOUR DREAM JOB? DO YOU HELP PEOPLE? MOM SAID YOU SHOULD HELP PEOPLE.”
Who was this kid? The jet leapt off the runway and the traveler wished he could D.B. Cooper off the plane.
“Sometimes. Sometimes I help people.”
“WHAT DID YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU WERE MY AGE, MR. BOB? I WANT TO BE AN ARTIST OR AN ASTRONAUT.”
The traveler remembered when he was a kid. He remembered his dreams. How somewhere along the way they had died and he had become this corporate shell.
“I wanted to own some land and raise cattle. I wanted to paint.”
“WHY DON’T YOU THEN?”
The traveler looked at the kid and said, “You ask a lot of questions, kid.”
“MOM SAYS I AM AN OLD MAN IN A LITTLE BODY.”
Bless the woman’s heart for having to live around this kid.
The flight attendant came and asked the boy if he wanted anything to drink.
“HOW ‘BOUT A COKE?”
The traveler made a “no” gesture. The kid needed caffeine like a fire needs gas. The boy was handed some juice.
“ARE YOU HAPPY?”
Now there was a loaded question. He worked all the time, was a hatchet man and now was facing a divorce.
“I’m happy I’m sitting next to you, Max.” OK, so it was a lie. But all things considered it was better than the real truth.
“I’M HAPPY. I LOVE BEING A KID. I GET TO DRAW, TO PLAY AND HAVE FUN.” Max, leaned over the traveler and looked out the window. “COOL! WASHINGTON D.C. I LOVE THE SMITHSONIAN!”
The kid was pretty smart for five. The traveler sipped his Scotch and felt the burn travel down his esophagus. The kid’s words rattled around in his head — I’M HAPPY. I LOVE BEING A KID. I GET TO DRAW, TO PLAY AND HAVE FUN.
I’m happy. I love being a kid. I get to draw, to play and have fun.
The traveler looked over at the kid and said, “Max, you’re the smarted person I know.”
Max smiled and said, “MY TEACHER SAYS THAT, TOO, MR. BOB. AND SHE TELLS ME TO NOT TALK SO LOUD.”
“I can believe that.”
The traveler thought about his life. About what he valued. He then thought about what was really important. Like the pilots in cockpit facing severe turbulence ahead, the traveler decided it was time to change course.
The plane landed in Atlanta and Mr. Bob watched as the flight attendant escorted Max past security to his waiting mother. He walked up to her and said, “You have a brilliant little boy there, ma’am.” The pretty brunette hugged her son and said, “Thank you.”
“BYE MR. BOB!” But by that time the Traveler was on his cell phone. And Max heard him say, “I resign.”
The traveler had earlier questioned God why a little boy was put next to him on a flight from New York to Atlanta. But God knew exactly what he was doing. Lives get changed in the most mysterious ways. Sometimes even by loud little boys.
over. A right eyelid opened, followed by his left. The room was dark except for the feint glow of the red digital alarm clock. The dog stretched and began snoring again. One foot hit the floor, followed by the other. The cold floor was the day’s first greeting.
