We’d been traveling for twelve hours so far today, riding a trolley to the main Hiroshima station, the bullet train to Tokyo, and a subway to the airport.
We traveled hundreds of miles by high-speed railway in four hours and arrived a minute behind schedule.
The conductors apologized for the delay through the intercom.
Navigating the single transfer to the airport train after had proven riskier than the entire journey from Hiroshima—the two hours of stop-and-go through Tokyo had felt more volatile.
We arrived to the airport on time, yet the data’s travel had still let me frazzled.
The attendant at the baggage check saw the tiredness in my eyes.
“Don’t worry. From here, it takes fifteen minutes to the gate.”
“Fifteen minutes. Like, one-five? From here… through security… through customs… and to the gate?”
“Yes.”
Then, she took my ticket, crossed out the “20:55” boarding time and wrote “20:40” in its place as a reminder of when to start our journey.
I looked at Dani.
“We have time. Let’s find something to eat.”
~
Now, a few minutes before boarding, we were at the gate, standing in the pre-boarding line, awaiting our ride home.
With Dani now thirty weeks pregnant, we found ourselves pulled to the front and granted special access. Other families also stood in the queue with their infants and toddlers.
We had seen dozens of other kids in Japan, but Corbin and Avery had never felt allowed or inclined to play with them before.
Here, they did. Wild and stir-crazy energy that comes after days and weeks of forced control.
For the last two weeks, they’d been the loudest and messiest two people in the room.
For two weeks, Dani and I had constantly reminded them to stop touching, to sit, to eat, to hold them to Japanese standards.
For two weeks, we were guests. Now, at the airport, we could let them be themselves.
They ran and wiggled. There was space for them among the chairs and terminals, and nobody gave us casual looks.
The other kids joined in.
All the parents looked relived.
For ten minutes, we were not breaking the rules. Their laughter filled the terminal.
They were still running when they called our group.