Bon Voyage

My parents’ flight

leaves at 11:00 pm,

so the official birthday party

with French vanilla ice cream

and Oreo cheesecake,

Mom’s faves,

is quick and

sweet.

Dad gives her

another elephant—this

one from South Africa—to add

to her prized collection

of elephant statues

from around the world

that have overtaken

our whole freakin’ house.

She smiles

when I give her

the bag,

devoid of dust

and letters,

and filled

with all kinds of

travel accessories:

sleep goggles,

romance novels,

and a penciled mélange

of self-portrait styles

so I can carry you near my heart, she says, crying like

I imagine

all moms do.

I kiss her goodbye,

Dad kisses me,

then she grabs me

like she’s never

going to see me

again.

Noah, be good. Be careful. Use good judgment, and . . .
Mom, you act like you’re flying to Pluto. It’s just Spain.
Try to have fun and not worry.

It’s just that we’ve never left you for this long.

I left you. Fourth grade. Wizards and Warriors Camp.

But, it wasn’t a month.
Felt like it.

He’ll be fine, honey, Dad says. My mother will be here

with him for a few weeks.

Guys, I’m a grown man now. I’ll be fine. Now, go.

And with that,

I shove them

out the door

to their taxi,

so I can get back

to the old letters,

to my new life.