In the airplane restroom, I discovered a sobbing youngster with a paper bag who wasn’t on the passenger list.
As a flight attendant, I promise you that I have seen some “stuff.” The plane takes off, my coworker and I complete the customary safety brief, and everything is OK. It was one of the most crazy workdays of my life. Then, on my way back to my seat, I hear this strange sound—a kitten meowing?—as I pass the restroom. My first thought is, “Did someone lose their cat in midair? ”
I knock in the hopes that a passenger will answer, but nobody does. I open the door out of curiosity (and some panic) and almost burst out laughing. Not a kitten. Rather, a young boy is sobbing uncontrollably while curled up on the ground. Trying not to panic, I squat down and say, “Whoa, buddy, you scared me! My name is Leslie. What is your name? ”
“Ben,” he murmurs through watery eyes.
As I try to figure out where he should be, I assist him in getting up and placing him in a jump seat. The worst part is that “Ben” is not on the passenger list. Not one. My mind is racing. Where are your parents, Ben? Are you lost? He grips this tattered tiny paper bag like it’s a lifeline without responding.
Ben gives me a wide-eyed stare before giving me the smallest head shake, as though he’s too scared or angry to open the paper bag. I lean against the wall and grin softly so as not to push him. At this point, the other passengers are unaware that we are inside the small galley area. They are either viewing the in-flight entertainment, reading magazines, or sleeping. I notice Carmen, my coworker, across the aisle. “Is everything alright?” she mouths. “No idea yet,” I mouth back, gesturing for her to wait.
I look back at Ben. “Remember how you boarded the aircraft? I ask, attempting to speak in a calm, informal tone, as though I were speaking to my nephew. Once more, Ben simply shakes his head. I can see the fear in his tiny face, and it makes my heart tighten. His age cannot exceed eight or nine years. I see that he is dressed in shorts and a simple blue T-shirt. Not wearing a jacket. Other than the paper bag he’s holding, there is no luggage.
I am currently considering the following scenarios: perhaps Ben is going alone with an unaccompanied juvenile form that was misplaced in the chaos. However, that does not account for his exclusion from the passenger list. Furthermore, it doesn’t explain how he became locked in the restroom of the airliner.
With a casual tone, I propose that we go to the galley at the back. “We can speak privately. Perhaps I could get you some juice or a blanket? Ben nods and follows me while continuing to blink away his tears.
In the back, Carmen greets us, and I discreetly explain the situation. She shares my confusion. Do we need to notify the captain? She murmurs. I give a nod. “But first, let’s try to calm him down and get some information.”
Ben and I take a seat in one of the vacant chairs close to the rear. From the service cart, Carmen takes out some juice and crackers. “Do you want some? Softly, she asks him. Ben nods, but he does it hesitantly, as if he’s not accustomed to being offered food. He sips the juice from a cracker.
“Ben,” I try once more. Could you tell us about the person that took you to the airport, such as your parents? With his tiny fists clutching the sack, he scowls. It appears to have been through a hurricane because it is crumpled and torn at the edges. He looks at it, then looks away, as though the memory hurts too much.
He doesn’t say anything for several minutes. I had to stoop to hear every word since his voice is so quiet. He says, “Mama told me to go.” In order for me to locate my aunt, she put me on the plane. Aunt Margo.
Carmen and I stare at each other. Aunt Margo isn’t listed on the manifest either. “Are you familiar with your aunt’s last name? Carmen gently asks. Ben gives a headshake. He whispers, “We just call her Aunt Margo.” He then squeezes his eyes tight as if he were making a concerted effort to hold back his tears.
My hand touches his shoulder. It’s alright. Okay, we’ll work it out. First, let’s talk about your last name. How long is your name? ”
He sniffles. “Ben Evers.”
Carmen nods and moves away quietly to look at her tablet’s passenger list again. We’ve previously established that he isn’t listed, of course. However, there might be a Margo Evers aboard. A dozen scenarios, each more odd than the last, are racing through my head. Was he smuggled into the aircraft? Did he flee his house? Did the mother feel she had no other option and did this out of desperation?
A few minutes later, our pilot, Captain Baker, brings me up to the cockpit. He appears worried. Even for him, a hidden child stowaway is a novel scenario. He is a gentle elderly man nearing retirement who has witnessed nearly every scenario in the sky.
“We must get in touch with ground control and inform them,” he continues. However, we must first make sure the infant is secure and not in any imminent danger. Is he in pain? ”
I give a headshake. “He appears scared, but he is unhurt. How he came on board is unknown to us. He claims to know nothing more than that his mother instructed him to locate his aunt.
Captain Baker furrowed his brows. “We’ll take care of it. But maintain his composure. Ensure his comfort till we touch down. Authorities and child services will then be ready to assist in resolving the matter.
The idea of handing this young child over to strangers, even if they are officials who could be able to assist, makes my stomach turn. However, I am aware of the protocol. Leaving him like a piece of luggage is not an option. For good reason, there are rules.
I take Carmen away to plan once we’re back at the cabin. We make the decision to minimize Ben’s presence. We are quite concerned about it, but we don’t want to frighten or terrify the other people. We still have a few hours left in the flight, after all.
Ben is eating his crackers while gazing out the galley’s door’s little window. I smile as I sit down next him. “Do you feel better now? I inquire quietly. He nods slightly.
I choose to lighten the tone and shift the topic for a while. As a child, I had a deep affection for aviation. According to my mother, I would look up in the sky and see all the locations they were going.
Ben gives me a questioning glance. “You did? ”
Indeed. I became a flight attendant in part for that reason. I hesitate and then softly continue, “Now I get to meet surprising people like you.” I adore traveling and meeting new people.
The tiniest glimmer of a smile escapes him. That is advancement.
Carmen and I carry on with our regular tasks, serving the passengers snacks and drinks, but one of us is constantly close to Ben. It seems like the clock is moving very slowly. Ben is noticed by a few backseat passengers, but we discreetly explain that it’s a “family situation,” and nobody asks further questions.
Ben finally pulls on my sleeve. “May I now open the bag? His voice quivers a little as he asks, as if he’s both afraid and eager to see what’s within.
I give a nod. “Obviously, my dear. You own the bag. Whatever is comfortable for you.
He inhales nervously. He slowly pulls down the top of the paper bag, and Carmen and I watch. It contains a folded piece of paper and a stuffed animal, a little, well-worn bear without an eye. After carefully removing them and setting the bear on his lap, Ben unfolds the paper. It’s a letter with neat cursive writing.
He swallows deeply and continues, “It’s from my mom.” Before we departed, she wrote it. She advised me to wait until I was in the air before reading it.
After a little period of silent reading during which his lips quiver, he puts the letter out to me and says, “She said… she said she can’t take care of me anymore.” that she is ill. Aunt Margo is in Los Angeles, too. She believes Aunt Margo can assist.
I glance at the letter and my eyes prickle with tears. It’s brief but devastating. It talks about unpaid debts, medical stays, and the fervent hope that a family member could give Ben a chance at a better life. Empathy makes my heart thump. It must have been really frightening for the mother to put her child on a plane by themselves, and she must have had no other choice.
I carefully fold the letter and put it back in the bag, promising him that we will do everything in our power to assist. What other memories do you have of Aunt Margo? For example, does she have a particular job, a particular pastime, or anything you heard your mother talk about? ”
He gives a sorrowful shrug. “All I know is that she paints. She used to email me her painted pictures. According to Mama, she resides close to a beach.
Even in a metropolis as vast as Los Angeles, that isn’t much to go on. However, it’s something.
Carmen and I eventually come to the conclusion that we must inform Captain Baker. We subtly clarify the circumstances, emphasizing the letter, the mother’s condition, and the enigmatic Aunt Margo. Captain Baker wipes a hand across his forehead and sighs. “We must follow protocol, even though I’m sorry for the child. We shall be met at the gate by the authorities.
I go back to see how Ben is doing; his eyelids are heavy with fatigue. We still have roughly two hours until we land, and it has been a hectic day. I find him a little blanket and a cushion and gently advise that he take a nap. He shuts his eyes and gives me a weary expression of appreciation.
I sense a wave of protective instinct as I watch him sleep. I recall the neighborhood children I used to watch, or my younger cousins. They were all protected and guided by their parents or guardians. Ben, however, finds himself in this ambiguous limbo, halfway between an aunt he has never met and the mother he had to leave behind. I feel so sorry for him.
Carmen and I gently wake Ben half an hour before we land. He holds the plush bear in his arms and rubs his eyes. “Now what? He asks softly, his voice wavering.
I kneel next to him. When we land, Ben, the police and a few social workers will most likely be there to greet us. They’ll be concerned about your safety. We’ll then determine how to get in touch with your aunt.
He appears to be on the verge of crying once more. “I’m afraid,” he acknowledges.
I reassure him by pressing his hand. “I understand. But don’t worry, you’re not alone anymore. We will be of assistance to you.
He nods while feigning bravery, but I can see that his hands are shaking. Carmen takes an additional set of wings, the tiny pin we occasionally give children, and attaches them to his shirt. “There,” she utters softly. “You are now a member of our flight crew.”
His face lights up with a shy smile. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
The passengers start disembarking as soon as we touch down. People are eager to stretch their legs, overhead bins are opening, and there is the usual flurry of bags. The majority are unaware of what has happened in the rear of the aircraft. Ben, who is sitting quietly with the paper bag in his lap, is where Carmen remains. I occasionally glance back to check on him while I assist in guiding passengers off the aircraft.
At last, the cabin is empty. Officer Rodriquez is standing by the entrance with a short woman wearing a blazer, who is probably Ms. Delgado, a social worker. Ben is called forward by Captain Baker.
Ms. Delgado gently whispers, “Hello, Ben,” lowering herself to his level. “I’m Carmen Delgado, and I’m here to assist you. We will find a way to get in touch with your relatives.
Ben nods despite his mouth quivering. When he looks at me, I give him the thumbs up. Despite my anxiety about him, I reassure him, “You’re in good hands.”
He rushes back and gives me the largest embrace before leaving. He says, “Thank you,” into my shirt. “Thanks for the crackers, too.”
My heart is on the verge of melting. I give him a light back pat. “Anytime, friend. You are careful.
I can’t stop thinking about Ben for the next week. When I inquire about any follow-up or information regarding the case, our airline supervisor responds that those records are typically confidential. Normally, I wouldn’t be involved again after that. However, there’s something about Ben’s story that lingers and bothers me. Did he ever locate Aunt Margo? That’s what I keep asking myself. What’s up with his mom?
Despite the slim chances, I choose to conduct some independent research. In an attempt to locate “Margo Evers” or “Margo the painter” in Los Angeles, I go online and look for any local resources. After several attempts, I find a listing for an artist named Margaret Evers in a nearby gallery. Some of her paintings—seascapes of an L.A.—are on display at the gallery. beach. My heart skips a beat.
In the most ambiguous way imaginable, I send an email to the gallery’s general inbox stating that I may know something about Ms. Evers’s relative. I mention the boy’s name, Ben, but I don’t want to give away too much. I hope for the best and give my contact information.
Days go by with no answer. I begin to give up, believing it might be a fruitless endeavor. However, late one night, I receive the following email:
Greetings, Leslie. My name is Margaret Evers. The gallery forwarded your message to me. Ben is the boy you mentioned. Would you give me a call? Regards, Margo.
My heart is pounding. I dial the phone without thinking. A quiet woman responds. I describe everything, including the letter from Ben’s mother and how I found him in the restroom of the airport. Margo catches her voice.
“Oh my god,” she exhales. “My sister and I haven’t spoken for years. I was unaware of her illness. I’m really concerned about them both.
Her tone conveys compassion and urgency, and I feel as though a burden has been lifted. Perhaps there is still hope.
Another week or so is spent on phone calls, liaising with Ms. Delgado, and waiting for the appropriate documentation to be processed. At last, Margo can demonstrate that she is Ben’s aunt and that she is prepared to adopt him. To make sure she is qualified to be his guardian, she must complete a home study, a flurry of paperwork, and background checks. Margo perseveres through every stage of the difficult and demanding process with steadfast determination.
Margo calls me on a Wednesday afternoon. I can hear the anguish in her voice as she whispers, “He’s here.” An hour ago, the social worker brought him in. He’s incredibly shy. He appears frightened. However, he is present.
I stifle happy tears. I haven’t received such joyful news in a long time. “That’s fantastic,” I tell her. “I appreciate you informing me.”
After a few weeks, I receive an unexpected invitation from Margo one day when I’m on stopover in Los Angeles. If I agree, she would like to thank me in person. I’m eager to see how Ben is doing, but I’m also a little anxious. I’m unsure of what to anticipate when I get to Margo’s little home by the ocean.
Ben is standing in the doorway with the same plush bear in his arms as the door swings wide. His eyes enlarge upon seeing me. “Leslie! He shouts as he drops the animal and rushes ahead. My heart swells with relief as he throws his arms around my waist.
“Are you alright, friend? I glance down at him and ask. He gives an angry nod. “Margo is so kind. She lets me do anything, including painting with her! ”
Margo, a slim woman with paint-splattered overalls and a kind grin, greets me as I enter. She offers me tea and cookies while repeatedly thanking me. We are seated in her tiny living room, which has vibrant paintings of waves and palm palms on the walls. I spot a fresh one—two individuals standing together at sunset—drying on an easel. I can tell it’s her homage to Ben and his mother even though I don’t know.
“How is your sister doing? I ask politely.
Margo’s grin wavers. She’s in the medical facility. It’s serious. However, I communicate with her physicians. I’m attempting to set up a visit soon; if it’s okay, I might bring Ben. Given the situation, she did the best she could. I will now try my best to help him.
Ben approaches and takes a seat on the couch beside me. He grasps my hand. Even though he’s struggling to contain the tears in his eyes, he quips, “Thank you for finding me in the bathroom.” “I was really afraid. You were of assistance to me.
I gently muss his hair. “I simply followed the advice of everyone. Ben, you are a courageous young man.
The burden of the past month dissolves into a mild sensation of relaxation as we sit there for a while, discussing everything and nothing. Ben is secure. He’s with relatives. Everyone still faces a difficult journey ahead—his mother’s illness, the legalities—but for now, there is optimism.
Ben pushes a folded piece of paper into my hand before I go. Then he says, “Open it later.” I give him one last embrace before putting it in my jacket pocket.
I recalled the note back at my motel that night. It contains a crayon drawing of an airplane, a figure of a flight attendant (perhaps myself, grinning broadly), and a young boy with the name “Ben” written in large, blocky letters. It said, “Thank you for not giving up on me,” at the bottom.
I hold that drawing while I sit there for a while. My vision is blurred by tears, but they are pleasant tears. The entire incident serves as a reminder that life can occasionally put our empathy and compassion to the test when we least expect it. All we need to do is respond with an open mind.
Margo informs me a few months later that Ben is enrolled in a nearby school, gradually adjusting to his new life, and even expressing an interest in painting. Although his mother is still receiving therapy, there is some optimism that she will eventually become well enough to join him in his life. At least they have a support system now, even though it won’t be easy.
Little deeds of kindness can have a big impact, as I remember the day I discovered Ben in the aircraft restroom. Every action has the capacity to transform someone’s life, whether it’s giving them a pack of crackers and drink, a consoling word, or going above and above to make a phone call.
Those who are most in need of assistance are sometimes the most difficult to identify. It would have been simple to write off the strange sound coming from the restroom as “just another weird noise.” However, by taking the time to verify and show concern, a youngster was able to find a safe home and a second opportunity. Being compassionate is being willing to provide a helping hand when no one else will. It’s not necessarily about doing something spectacular.
We appreciate you reading this and following Ben’s journey. If it resonated with you in any way, please forward it to someone who may use a little inspiration and hope today. Additionally, remember to like this post so that we can share more touching and uplifting tales. We all need to be reminded that empathy can be quite helpful, even in the most unlikely situations.
