“Blue plane, blue plane, blue plane,” he murmured.
I took his hand.
“You’re safe, sweetheart.”
His fingers squeezed mine.
The man across the aisle turned around.
“Keep it down or get out!”
For a second, I thought I’d misheard him.
Several passengers looked over.
Benjamin rocked faster.
I leaned toward the man.
“He’s seven,” I said. “He’s doing his best.”
The man rolled his eyes.
“Then maybe he shouldn’t be flying.”
Heat rushed into my face.
I had spent weeks worrying about whether Benjamin would be frightened, whether he’d tolerate the engine noise, and whether he’d panic during boarding.
I’d prepared for almost everything except a grown man deciding my grandson’s fear was an inconvenience he had the right to punish.
Before I could answer, a flight attendant hurried over.
“Is everything okay?”
I explained quietly.
Benjamin kept repeating, “Blue plane, blue plane.”
The attendant smiled at him and pulled a small packet from her pocket.
