Elena was fifty-two, and she had never been on a plane. Her son lived far away, and his baby, her first grandson, was three weeks old. So she had a ticket for a three-hour flight, and at the gate her legs shook.
In the window seat, 14A, sat Theo, a boy of eight with a card around his neck. He was flying alone to his father. "Do you want the window?" he asked calmly. "I've done this six times." At takeoff Elena gripped the armrest and shut her eyes. "Takeoff is just the plane running very fast until the ground gets bored of it," said Theo. She laughed, and her fingers loosened a little.
Forty minutes into the flight there was turbulence: the cup on the tray danced, and the seat belt sign came on. "Don't be afraid, I've got you," Elena said in a firm voice, and took his hand. "I'm not afraid," Theo said in a very small voice. "I'm holding your hand because you look scared." They looked at each other and burst out laughing, because each had been pretending to be brave for the other.
After that they counted the bumps together and gave the clouds names. At landing a flight attendant led Theo to his father, and he turned and shouted, "That lady was very brave!" "He was," said Elena, still shaking.
At arrivals her son stood with a small bundle in a blue blanket. Elena took her grandson in her arms. "I flew," she whispered. "I flew for you."
