What struck me first was how ugly his hat was. A fleece baseball cap. I blamed his mother, signed the Unaccompanied Minor form they made him wear on a red elastic string around his neck, crammed the offending hat into his overstuffed yellow backpack, and we left. No checked baggage. I love a kid who travels light. Often when Francis and I hook up, some time has passed since we last saw each other. This time it had only been three months, but when you’re seven-and-a-half, three months can hold a decade of things to catch up on. I studied him out of the corner of my eye while driving over the bridge. He was taller, and his legs were beginning to take up more of him than they looked like they should. Stick legs folded into oversized green rubber boots with laces. Very practical footwear. I always appreciated that trait in his mother too. Warm, lined, navy blue rain jacket. Just a normal little boy, right? He touches everything, runs his hands over things, opens the glove box, wide-eyed, staring, and pointing at accordion buses.
