The Flight

I dawdled as I made my way towards the plane. I couldn't wait to go on holiday, don't get me wrong. But the four hour journey with Diego was a decision I was quickly changing my mind about.

He'd already cried throughout the car journey. He'd also screamed his way through customs. I was wondering what alcohol they served by 9 in the morning. Promising Diego that we would be moving soon, I swept confidently through the metal detecting machines, I'd already planned ahead for this. Nothing metal on us!

Then we bleeped.
They searched me. I had to get my feet out. I hate feet.
And then Diego.
Diego did not like being searched.

I’d soon given up the pleading looks I had been throwing my parents. They grinned back like Cheshire cats. Or Dementors, draining my soul. It seemed to be flashing between the two, depending on the noise level escaping Diego.

The flight was a joy… on the scale of almost as enjoyable as how many times I had fantasized about pouring my boy's bottles over the head of the man in front of me. Misery guts stood up to demand I “control my toddler’s legs as he is kicking the back of my chair".
Looking back I should have joined my son and began kicking, instead as Diego spent hour after hour crying, so did I. To the point in which I had the arms of passengers’ around me and Diego had suddenly been played with by more strangers than he had in his life. I couldn't have been more grateful.

realized that despite everything, there are good people. I think I'd have completely broken down without them. We landed, eventually. It was worth it. I have beautiful memories that I will never forget.

Boneata Bell


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