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 just one minute late.

A single minute.

The conductor apologized.

~

Tokyo Station seemed to stretch for blocks beneath the city.

Commuters moved in swelling currents. Businessmen in almost identical black suits, coats, and satchels flowed between trains. Families with rolling luggage cut diagonally through the lanes. Lines backed up from ticket counters and gates.

There was nowhere to stand.

Nowhere to catch our bearings.

A sign overhead pointed toward the Airport Express.

NARITA

The word comforted me.

Dani checked her phone.

“The express is fast, but expensive. There’s another train just outside. A little longer, but we we can use what’s already on our transit cards.”

She waited as people pushed past us.

“Gah. Just pick something.”

I looked at the map.

“A block away?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

We followed the streams of passengers toward the exit.

Then we found another set of ticket gates.

Dani pulled our used tickets from her pocket and pushed one into the machine.

Nothing.

She tried again.

Nothing.

A line formed behind us.

People began slipping around our shoulders.

Dani looked at the machine, then at the clock, then tried the ticket again.

A security guard came over.

He pointed at the slot.

“Insert. Not scan.”

He took the ticket, demonstrated, and waved us through.

Outside, the temperature had dropped.

City lights reflected off the wet pavement. It was fully dark now.

I hadn’t expected it to be.

Dani checked the map again.

The station was still a block away.

We walked.

“I’m tired of walking,” Corbin said.

I looked down at him.

He had his backpack. I had mine. One wheel bag rolled behind me, and Avery was in the stroller.

“Sorry. You have— wait.”

Then I picked him up and set him on the wheel bag and pushed him across the intersection.

Then another.

Crosswalk.

Construction detour.

Traffic.

Another intersection.

The station on the map didn’t seem to get any closer.

When we finally reached the entrance, Dani stopped.

She looked at her phone.

“Wait.”

The timetable had changed.

She scrolled.

“The train changed.”

“What?”

“The best one. We missed it.”

She looked at the map again.

“The next one leaves from another station.”

“How far?”

She zoomed out.

“A mile.”

I stared at the screen.

“Gah. I should have taken the express. Why didn’t you let me?”

I shrugged.

“Let me see.”

I took the phone.

The route was still there. The next train was still coming.

Five minutes.

“There’s one here,” I said. “Platform 4B.”

Dani looked at the map.

“Where?”

“Here.”

She looked around the station.

“Where’s 4B?”

I looked for a sign.

Down the stairs.

There was no elevator.

At the bottom, we found platforms one and two.

A small sign pointed toward four.

We followed it.

Up another staircase.

Then down another.

An elevator opened.

We got in.

The doors closed.

The elevator went up.

The doors opened onto another corridor.

More stairs.

Another elevator.

“Where are they taking us?” Dani asked.

“I don’t know.”

We kept going.

At last we saw the tracks.

A train was already waiting.

“It won’t stay long.”

I grabbed the wheel bag.

“Run.”

The kids ran behind us.

The bag bounced down the stairs.

We reached the platform.

The doors were still open.

We jumped aboard.

They closed behind us se found out seats.

Start. Stop. Wait.

I kept checking the map.

The little blue dot moved forward, then stopped.

Start. Stop. Wait.

I checked the clock.

Checked the arrival time.

Checked it again.

Every estimate I made was wrong.

Start. Stop. Wait.

“It’s going to be close.”

~

The airport 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 passport control… 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.

“I guess we have time after all. Let’s find something to eat.”

She looked as relieved as I felt.

~

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.