the smog outside the window. Boy, do you remember THAT feeling.
The two little boys at Gate 22 running into a crowd of arriving passengers and being scooped up by a tired but happy businessman. The mom joins them, making a four-person sandwich, and you can almost hear them squeal, “We’re the ham and cheese, you’re the bread!” — but no, that’s what YOU used to say. It’s only a memory. But you can taste the hope and
excitement in then air. You know what those boys are thinking right now. Today Daddy’s home for good. Today everything will be normal again.
Maybe for them it’s true. Maybe THEIR parents aren’t professors-slash-international business consultants like yours.
For YOU, Ducky, things were never normal. Because Mom and Dad always had another trip.
And when they were gone, you worried they’d forget you, or find new kids to love, or just plain never come back. You counted the days on a calendar and looked at atlases and encyclopedias, hoping to see Paris through Mom’s and Dad’s eyes, or Boston or Abu Dhabi or Toronto or Sri Lanka. And you wondered why you couldn’t have gone along too and WHAT you did wrong
and HOW you could make them want to stay home next time — IF I CLEAN MY ROOM
EVERY DAY, IF I STOP YELLING AT MY BROTHER, IF I GET STRAIGHT A’S …
The trips eventually became a part of life, expected, unavoidable, like breakfast and homework.
The fears became hidden away like a scabbed-over wound — and soon even the scab was gone, leaving only a scar.
Scars protect. Scars heal. But they’re markers too, reminders of what’s underneath.
So when you see that toddler and those boys, the scar stretches. You feel a little of the old pain.
And you ask some of the old questions: What will Mom and Dad be like when they arrive? Will they be happy to see you? How long will they stay this time? Until the spring? Until the new year, at least?
The difference between now and then is that at 16, you KNOW some of the answers.
You know to settle for reality. Which isn’t too bad, really. Soon 121 Sherwood Road will look and smell the way it used to. Like a house with a real family in it.
Still, you want something MORE.
An edge. An electricity.
Something.
And you know you won’t get it.
9:07 P.M.
The 5:37 has arrived.
Much Later
After an Evening of Song, Dance, and Laughter
Well, maybe not dance.
Definitely not song.
Laughter? Uh, well …
Let’s just say it’s been a weird night.
Starting with the arrival of the plane.
The Reunion of the McCraes
Based on a True Story
Act I, Scene I:
SETTING:
Los Angeles International Airport, 9:10 P.M., December 1. Great hubbub at Gate 21. Passengers emerge from the plane into the waiting crowd. Families hug and cry. Boyfriends and girlfriends are lost in each other’s embraces. DUCKY, a nondescript, dark-haired 16-year-old, cranes his neck. He sees:
CUT TO:
A tanned, trim, middle-aged couple walking out of the gate. They are struggling with their carry-on luggage.
DUCKY looks away.
Then he does a double take. They’re his parents. He didn’t recognize them at first. Was it their tans? Their weight loss? Or has it really been so long since he last saw them?
DUCKY’S heart is beating faster. He smiles. He waves and calls out their names.
FATHER and MOTHER turn. They spot DUCKY across the multitudes.
[Swelling music.]
DUCKY [enthusiastically, arms wide, BIG smile]: HI!
MOTHER [with a quick kiss on D’s cheek]: Thank you for coming, sweetie. Would you help with the carry-ons?
FATHER [putting garment bag over D’s outstretched arm, which is already holding M’s bag]: What a trip. Glad you’re here. Heavy enough?
D [sagging under the weight]: Uh, fine.
M: Where’s Ted?
D: Studying.
F: At least SOMEBODY’S working. Heh-heh. Let’s get our luggage.
M & F walk briskly ahead toward baggage claim. D lags behind, loaded down with luggage.
Dumbfounded. Drooping. Dodging and ducking through the crowd.
D [thinking,
The two little boys at Gate 22 running into a crowd of arriving passengers and being scooped up by a tired but happy businessman. The mom joins them, making a four-person sandwich, and you can almost hear them squeal, “We’re the ham and cheese, you’re the bread!” — but no, that’s what YOU used to say. It’s only a memory. But you can taste the hope and
excitement in then air. You know what those boys are thinking right now. Today Daddy’s home for good. Today everything will be normal again.
Maybe for them it’s true. Maybe THEIR parents aren’t professors-slash-international business consultants like yours.
For YOU, Ducky, things were never normal. Because Mom and Dad always had another trip.
And when they were gone, you worried they’d forget you, or find new kids to love, or just plain never come back. You counted the days on a calendar and looked at atlases and encyclopedias, hoping to see Paris through Mom’s and Dad’s eyes, or Boston or Abu Dhabi or Toronto or Sri Lanka. And you wondered why you couldn’t have gone along too and WHAT you did wrong
and HOW you could make them want to stay home next time — IF I CLEAN MY ROOM
EVERY DAY, IF I STOP YELLING AT MY BROTHER, IF I GET STRAIGHT A’S …
The trips eventually became a part of life, expected, unavoidable, like breakfast and homework.
The fears became hidden away like a scabbed-over wound — and soon even the scab was gone, leaving only a scar.
Scars protect. Scars heal. But they’re markers too, reminders of what’s underneath.
So when you see that toddler and those boys, the scar stretches. You feel a little of the old pain.
And you ask some of the old questions: What will Mom and Dad be like when they arrive? Will they be happy to see you? How long will they stay this time? Until the spring? Until the new year, at least?
The difference between now and then is that at 16, you KNOW some of the answers.
You know to settle for reality. Which isn’t too bad, really. Soon 121 Sherwood Road will look and smell the way it used to. Like a house with a real family in it.
Still, you want something MORE.
An edge. An electricity.
Something.
And you know you won’t get it.
9:07 P.M.
The 5:37 has arrived.
Much Later
After an Evening of Song, Dance, and Laughter
Well, maybe not dance.
Definitely not song.
Laughter? Uh, well …
Let’s just say it’s been a weird night.
Starting with the arrival of the plane.
The Reunion of the McCraes
Based on a True Story
Act I, Scene I:
SETTING:
Los Angeles International Airport, 9:10 P.M., December 1. Great hubbub at Gate 21. Passengers emerge from the plane into the waiting crowd. Families hug and cry. Boyfriends and girlfriends are lost in each other’s embraces. DUCKY, a nondescript, dark-haired 16-year-old, cranes his neck. He sees:
CUT TO:
A tanned, trim, middle-aged couple walking out of the gate. They are struggling with their carry-on luggage.
DUCKY looks away.
Then he does a double take. They’re his parents. He didn’t recognize them at first. Was it their tans? Their weight loss? Or has it really been so long since he last saw them?
DUCKY’S heart is beating faster. He smiles. He waves and calls out their names.
FATHER and MOTHER turn. They spot DUCKY across the multitudes.
[Swelling music.]
DUCKY [enthusiastically, arms wide, BIG smile]: HI!
MOTHER [with a quick kiss on D’s cheek]: Thank you for coming, sweetie. Would you help with the carry-ons?
FATHER [putting garment bag over D’s outstretched arm, which is already holding M’s bag]: What a trip. Glad you’re here. Heavy enough?
D [sagging under the weight]: Uh, fine.
M: Where’s Ted?
D: Studying.
F: At least SOMEBODY’S working. Heh-heh. Let’s get our luggage.
M & F walk briskly ahead toward baggage claim. D lags behind, loaded down with luggage.
Dumbfounded. Drooping. Dodging and ducking through the crowd.
D [thinking,
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