Working thousands of feet in the air every week makes you believe you’ve seen everything, but nothing prepared me for what occurred on Flight 1745 from Denver to Los Angeles on Tuesday afternoon. trip attendant Erica Greene had one of the craziest, most emotional days of her life on that trip.
It started like any other excursion. We left on time. My colleague Jenna and I finished the safety presentation, locked the stateroom, and settled down for the vacation. After completing my standard walk-through, I heard something unusual. A quiet sound near the back lavatory. At first, I assumed a cat meowed.
Moving closer, I softly knocked on the door. “Everything okay in there?” No reply. I knocked again, waited. Still nothing.
I gingerly opened the door with my emergency key, thinking someone had passed out. What I discovered left me breathless.
No cat. A small kid, about eight, huddled up on the floor with a crumpled paper bag to his chest, his face blotchy and teary. He stared at me like a deer in headlights.
I knelt swiftly to avoid scaring him. “Whoa, kid. You surprised me,” I whispered. I’m Erica. What’s your name?
His murmur was hardly unheard. “Caleb.”
I responded, “Alright, Caleb,” softly. “Get you out of here, okay?”
I handed him water and escorted him to an empty jump seat in the rear. Jenna approached, eyebrows raised. When I said, “Found him in the lav,” her eyes practically flew out.
I examined the passenger manifest on our iPad. No Caleb on board. Absolutely no minors. Then my gut knot tightened.
I asked Caleb quietly, squatting alongside him, “Can you tell me where your mom or dad is?”
He shook his head and tightened the paper bag. He looked afraid, like letting go would destroy all he had.
“What’s in the bag?” Softly, I asked.
He paused, then barely shook his head.
We transferred him to the quieter back galley. Jenna handed him crackers and drink as I tried again.
Remember how you boarded the plane? I requested.
“I think so,” he answered. Mom advised me to locate Aunt Lila. Aunt Lila would assist me, she said.”
Aunt Lila. Nor did I recognize the name on the list.
Are you familiar with your aunt’s surname? Jenna asks.
Caleb shook his head again. “Just Aunt Lila.”
His paper bag was tattered and practically crumbling in his hands. I softly said, “What’s your full name, Caleb?”
He sniffled. “Caleb Thomlin.”
Jenna left to check the manifest for Thomlin or Lila Thomlin. Nothing. Seeing no match.
I chatted softly with our captain, Dale McKinney, who is cool in a crisis. He responded, “We’ll notify authorities when we land, but in the meantime, let’s make sure the boy’s okay.”
Caleb eventually ate Jenna’s crackers in the galley, his little figure barely occupying the jump seat. I felt heartbroken seeing him barefoot in thin cotton shorts and a T-shirt, no jacket, no baggage, just that pathetic paper bag.
Caleb glanced up at me. “Can I open the bag?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” I said.
Carefully, he opened it. A squared letter and a plush monkey with torn ears and a missing button eye were inside. Caleb was shaking as he gave me the paper.
“She told me not to read it until I was in the sky.”
I unfurled the neat handwritten letter on lined notebook paper:
Dear Caleb,
So sorry. I wish I could be with you, but I can’t care for you. My time is limited since I’m unwell. Aunt Lila lives near the sea in LA. She draws and loves animals. She’ll remember you.
Dear boy, be courageous. Love you forever.
—Mom”
I blinked back tears. I’ve seen drunk tourists, marriage proposals, even midair medical emergencies on aircraft, but nothing like this.
Jenna and I glanced. We had to be discreet. Captain agreed to have social services meet us at the gate after we told him everything.
Caleb was calm throughout our in-flight service. Every several minutes, I checked on him. He constantly held the monkey in his lap.
I sat close to him again. Tell me about Aunt Lila. Remember what?
“She paints. She painted birds and beaches, Mama remarked. She sent me drawings as a child.”
We had one lead: Lila, an artist from L.A.’s shore.
I leaned down close to him as we descended. Ok, Caleb. People will assist us when we land. Will be kind. Let me remain with you as long as possible.”
He glanced up, terrified. “I don’t want to go bad.”
“You won’t,” I said. “You’re not alone.”
We waited until the cabin was mostly empty after landing. Airport police officer Klein and Child Services employee Dara Noble boarded. Daria crouched beside Caleb.
“Hi Caleb, I’m Daria. Helping you discover your aunt.”
Caleb saw me one final time. Nodding, I did. He rushed and embraced me hard.
Thank you, he said into my uniform.
“You’re a brave little guy,” I murmured.
They took him away with a stuffed monkey.
Following that, I thought about Caleb for days. I was tormented by his last glance before exiting the aircraft.
I eventually risked it. On a stopover in L.A., I googled “Lila Thomlin” and “artist near Los Angeles beach.” I found a webpage for local artist Lila Maddox (previously Lila Thomlin), who painted birds, waves, and sunrises, a few pages in. Emailed her:
“Hi, Lila. I think I met Caleb, your cousin. Please contact me if you see this.”
A response arrived two days later, surprising me.
“My God. Please call.”
Talked that night. Her voice cracked as I told her what occurred. It had been almost six years since she talked to her sister, Caleb’s mother. They split. She didn’t know her sister was sick.
“I always wondered about Caleb,” she added. “I thought she’d never send him to me like this.”
Lila called Child Services. It took weeks to verify her identification, pass background checks, and prepare her house. She ultimately obtained custody.
Lila texted me two months later while in L.A.
Would you want to see Caleb again? Asks about you.”
I visited her charming townhouse steps from the shore. Walls were covered with bright seascape artwork. Large monkey painting clutching paper bag dried in the sun.
Front door opened. Caleb held his monkey with a hesitant grin.
“Erica!” In tears, he went to embrace me.
He looked fitter. He informed me about his new school, art lessons, and flying fantasies.
I had tea with Lila, who thanked me repeatedly for watching her nephew.
Caleb gave me a folded sketch before leaving. Pictured were an aircraft, myself with enormous curly hair, and a monkey. At the bottom, large multicolored letters read:
“Thank you for flying me home.”
Final Word
This job sometimes makes me forget how powerful compassion is. A query, curiosity, or tiny act of compassion may alter someone’s life.
Caleb reminded me. He reminded me that sometimes simply knocking may make all the difference.
What about an odd sounds behind an airline bathroom door? Check. You never know who could be waiting on the other side.
