We’d been traveling for twelve hours: a trolley to Hiroshima Station, a bullet train to Tokyo, then a subway toward the airport.

We arrived in Tokyo one minute late.

The conductor apologized.

We stepped off and followed the signs for the airport train.

One transfer.

That should have been easy.

Instead, we spent the next two hours moving through Tokyo in stops and starts—waiting for doors, checking signs, changing platforms, climbing stairs, then running when the next train appeared.

I looked at the clock when we reached the airport,

On time.

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.”

~

A few minutes before boarding, we stood in the pre-boarding line, waiting to go home.

With Dani thirty weeks pregnant, an airline employee waved us toward the front. Other families gathered there with infants and toddlers.

Corbin noticed them.

Avery noticed them too.

For the first time in two weeks, they ran toward other children.

They crawled under the seats. They chased each other between the rows of chairs. They talked too loudly and laughed even louder. Other parents looked over, then laughed with them.

Dani and I didn’t stop them.

They had spent two weeks being told to sit still, keep their hands to themselves, lower their voices, and watch where they were going.

Now we were at the airport.

The chairs were bolted down. The gate was ours. The plane was waiting.

All the parents looked relived.

The kids were still running when they called our group.