“Group 5, you are now boarding,” came the voice from the loudspeaker above my head. 

“Group 5. That’s us,” Mom hurriedly grabbed our carry-on suitcases and backpacks. “Are we forgetting anything else?” She checked the seats we had been sitting in for items we had dropped and would later be looking for. 

“We’re ready,” I said. “I hope Opal is okay.” 

“So do I,” she walked over to the line of eager yet tired travelers waiting to board the plane. 

Slowly but surely, the line moved along until I found myself at the ticketing agent’s desk. 

“Hello,” he smiled. “Ticket?” 

I paused to wait while Mom went through the same process. We walked down the long jetway, and soon came to the cramped aisle. 

“Seat F51, Seat F51,” I repeated over and over to myself as I scanned the numbers positioned above the rows of seats. “Where’s F51?” 

“Oh!” Mom exclaimed from behind me, pointing to a seat on the other side of the plane. With a few “excuse me’s” and some maneuvering around the tight spaces, we crossed the section of seats in the middle and found our way to the three seats by the window marked with “row 51”. 

Twenty minutes later, our bags had been stored in the overhead compartment, and backpacks had been placed under the seats in front of us.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Welcome aboard American Airlines, flight 87, heading to Dallas, Texas. We are so delighted to have you flying with us, and want to make your experience a pleasant one…” the metallic voice in the speaker above me barely registered. 

I leaned over Mom and pressed my face against the glass for a glimpse of the takeoff. The excitement of flying never seemed to grow old for me. 

Faster, faster, I watched the lush fields speed by. 

And now, we were flying. 

As the plane slowly rose and circled the city of Honolulu, I silently said goodbye to my beloved home, island, Cinnamon, and Opal. Somewhere out there, I knew our house stood right in the path of the destructive wave. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to relive that goodbye. It had already been done. I missed Opal and Cinnamon desperately, but what could I do, other than watch with my face still pressed to the window until the island became smaller and smaller, finally getting lost in the clouds we were starting to rise above. I pulled away from the window, surprised to find my face was wet with tears. Mom smiled at me and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

“We’ll be okay, Elizabeth,” she promised, and then repeated again, mostly to reassure herself, “We’ll be okay.”

I picked up my book again and tried to resume reading, but before I got very far along, a tiny hand tapped my wrist. I looked down and realized that I hadn’t yet noticed my new seat-mate. There, in the seat next to me, sat a young girl about 5 years old with dark hair and deep, brown eyes, the same one the scheduling attendant had pointed out to us that very afternoon. The one Opal had given up her seat for. 

I noticed the girl’s foot was wrapped in a bandage, and though she seemed in pain, she looked up and smiled.

“Hi, I’m Maria,” she said shyly. “Maria Saito. Who’re you?”

“I’m Elizabeth,” I said in response. 

“Hi Elizabeth,” she grinned, revealing a set of emerging teeth.

“Hi,” I smiled and turned back to the book. 

Not 5 minutes later, I felt a tiny tap again. 

“I’m sorry if I interpreted you, but I really like your bracelets.” 

“Oh, thank you!” I said, glancing down at my wrist. I was wearing two bracelets, a beaded one from Opal and an elegant, silver one from my parents. “That’s okay, I had barely found my place anyway.” 

“You wanna see mine?” She held up a sun-browned arm for my inspection. A pink, coiled bracelet hugged her tiny wrist. 

“I love it,” I said. “It’s my favorite color.”

“Really?! Me too! Look, I even have a pink band-aid,” she said, pointing to her forearm.

“What happened there?” I asked. 

At this, she bit her lip. I was afraid I had asked the wrong thing. 

“It’s okay…I…I understand if you don’t want to talk. I can keep reading if you want…,” I trailed off awkwardly, trying to remedy my mistake. 

“Don’t feel bad,” she said with a smile. “I’ll tell you, but it’s a long story. Do you like long stories? But it’s also a sad one. Do you wanna hear it anyway?” 

“Maria,” called the man sitting across the aisle, “please don’t bother Elizabeth. She would like to read.” At the familiarity of this voice, I whipped my head around to look across the aisle.

 Sure enough, there sat, “Dr. Saito?!” I  gasped. “Oh, why didn’t I realize earlier? Of course!” I snapped my fingers. “Maria Saito. So I take it that I have finally met your daughter?”

Dr. Saito, my part-time orchestra director, smiled. “Hey, Elizabeth. Yes, this is my daughter Maria. She injured herself this morning. Hank, while driving Maria for help, was minorly injured in a car accident and cannot travel yet. My wife has been prematurely hospitalized for her pregnancy and for a broken hip.” His face darkened with the last sentences, but he managed to quickly recover his mood. “So how are you guys doing?” 

“Daddy! I was going to tell her!” Maria interrupted, but was quickly shushed by her father. 

I sighed. “I guess we are doing as best as can be expected under the circumstances, other than leaving our house and most belongings behind. I’m so sorry that your wife broke her hip. That’s terrible!” I knew and genuinely loved Mrs. Saito. She came to almost every recital and performance with snacks and encouragement being handed out anytime we needed something. I knew the family was expecting a baby around this time as well. “And what about …the baby?” I asked hesitantly. “Is it okay? Is your wife okay?” 

“Can I explain, Daddy?” asked Maria. 

“Only if Elizabeth doesn’t mind,” he winked at me. 

“Of course I don’t!” I exclaimed. “I’ll be glad to listen.” 

“Well, this morning Mommy slipped on the stairs when she was going down to make me some breakfast. She fell down the rest of the way, and it broke her hip,” the girl’s lower lip quivered. “I was so scared. Daddy carried Mommy upstairs, where she threw up multiple times. Daddy thought the baby might have been injured in the fall, and he was sure Mommy was hurt badly, so they went to the hospital, and left me behind with Hank,” she paused. 

I glanced at my own mother, who pretended to be sleeping, but who I could tell was listening by the way her ear was turned towards us and how her breathing didn’t sound completely relaxed. I thought of how much she had helped over the last few days. I couldn’t imagine having to go through that. I thought. If my mom broke her hip and had major injuries, I would be so worried. And yet she is so happy. Maria’s voice pulled me out of my musings. 

“Later, since I had been crying so much, I went to the kitchen for some water. But I couldn’t reach the glasses! Hank was working on homework, and I didn’t want to disturb him. I tried climbing up on our counter to reach the water glasses. I was fine until Hank startled me, and I dropped the cup. I fell off the counter,” she gestured towards her foot, “and I cut my foot really bad as I landed on one of the shards,” she cringed at the memory. 

I gasped in horror. “Oh my! I’m so sorry, Maria. That sounds awful. Does it still hurt?” 

“Don’t worry,” she patted my arm. “The doctor gave me twenty-six stitches in my foot. It hurts, but not as much anymore. Tomorrow we have an appointment at, umm, what’s the name of the hospital Daddy?” 

“Scottish Rite Children’s Orthopedic Hospital,” her father massaged his temples. 

“Yes, at that hospital,” she continued “so they can take care of the sprain. We had to pack quickly so I didn’t get to bring everything I wanted to, but I’m trying to trust it’ll be safe,” she said, quietly. At this, Dr. Saito squeezed her hand. 

“But it’s not my stuff that’s most important. It’s the people. Daddy, Mommy, Hank, my friend Clara and other kind people, like even you, I guess. I just,” she sniffed. “I just want Mommy and Hank to be okay.” 

I had to blink back tears at the truth of her statement – and at the reality of her loss. She’s going through ten times as much of a crisis as I am, yet she is so happy; she just wants to help others. How?

“As long as I have them both, I’ll be okay,” she squeezed my hand. “But what about your home?”

I don’t know if it was my raw emotions, my absolute homesickness, or my tired brain looking for someone to listen to my woes, but whatever it was caused me to pour an avalanche of words out to Maria, who listened with interest and sympathy. I told of the first time I had heard of the tsunami and of Opal’s bravery when she decided to fly back home alone to help us. I told of the hectic packing that followed. I tried to describe every single detail of our home so that Maria could almost feel like she was standing there that night with me, watching the sunset and saying goodbye to the house. I told of all the things I threw away and the heartbreak I felt after each one. It seemed small though, compared to what she had shared, and the realization washed over me like a tidal wave. We have really been so, so blessed. 

“I understand Elizabeth,” Maria agreed. “I hate goodbyes too.” 

I told of the trip to the airport, and I shared how we lost Cinnamon. 

“I really miss the cat,” I confided. “After all that has happened, I know a cat seems like the least thing I should be concerned about, but we had a special bond.” 

Then I told of how Opal had given up her seat, and how worried I was about her now. 

“But I’m glad she did,” I admitted, “Otherwise I would never have made friends with you.” 

“Me too,” Maria whispered. “Me too.” 

She closed her eyes and was soon asleep. 

As I stepped onto the jetway, someone tapped my shoulder. I looked up and met Dr. Saito’s eyes. “Elizabeth. Tell Opal thank you. This has meant the world to us. If I never see you in my orchestra again, I’d like to thank you for being a dedicated musician, and a pleasure to teach. Opal too. I’ll miss you guys.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out an envelope. “Here. I’ve done this for every member of the professional orchestra that has left, and since I’m not sure if you and Opal will be returning, I decided to do it while I had the chance. There’s a letter for both of you, but you’ll always be welcome back. As for the rest of it, please don’t bother returning it. Enjoy it,” he said, a wry smile crossing his face. “Music is what feelings sound like, as I’ve always told you, and I imagine we all have plenty of feelings to let out.” 

“Th-thank you! But wait, what did you mean about the rest of it? And feelings?”

“You’ll see,” he smiled his small, patient smile and began to walk away. “Goodbye, and thanks again, Elizabeth.” 

“Goodbye for now. And thank you,” I called. “I’ll never forget being in your orchestra.” 

With a wave, he and Maria were gone. I rushed to catch up with Mom on her way to the baggage claim. 

As we waited, my fingers eagerly pried open the seal on the envelope. Inside, staring up at me were two typed letters, and a small handwritten sticky note. After reading my letter, a standard thank you with what he thought I’d done well on, I reached for the sticky note. It read: 

“There’s a music and arts shop in Dallas. Rent yourself a cello while you’re there. I saw how much you were struggling on the plane and thought it was the least I could do to help. Try playing something intense because you’re angry, something stirring to say goodbye and something challenging to take your mind off of it. Or play whatever comes to mind. Share with Opal. 

“Best wishes, Dr. Saito” 

Folded into a neat rectangle beneath the note, a crisp $100 dollar bill beamed up at me.

God, thank you! I silently prayed. Thank you for Dr. Saito, and for Maria. Heal Mrs. Saito and Hank. Please, God! Maria’s simple faith was so beautiful. You truly — 

Mom tapped my wrist, interrupting my prayer. 

“Elizabeth! Have you heard anything that I’ve said?” 

“Sorry,” I responded sheepishly. “What did you say?”

“It’s Kai,” she said. “Dad took him to an Urgent Care.” 

“Why?!” 

“He can’t stop vomiting.”

“Do they know why?”

“Appendicitis,” she whispered. “Apparently it’s progressed dangerously far. He has surgery as soon as they can manage.” 

“He’ll be okay, Mom,” I said, with false confidence. My mother’s face paled with worry. “Plenty of people have their appendixes removed.” 

There was a beat of silence. 

“Just pray,” she said quietly, with silent strength springing from a reservoir of faith.  “Just pray it’s not too late.” 

To be continued!