I'm afraid of falling, and I'm airsick. Fear and nausea do battle for control of my stomach, but I don't want the flight to end. I wonder if the pilot knows how envious I am of him. The sky is a giant soap bubble of light, the ground a crisp of brown below. Little Brother knows what he wants, and he goes after it with determination.
School is hell, but before long, the family stands, cheers, whoops, shouts.
We yell ourselves hoarse as his hand closes over a high school diploma. It's only a short flight. The pilot and the tower chatter back and forth to each other, and we drop towards the tarmac runway. Touchdown is so smooth that I scarcely notice that the sky-bubble has popped, and we are gently on the earth again. Sometimes, we try to hold him back.