A small boy who wasn’t on the passenger list was crying and holding a paper bag in the aeroplane lavatory

It was one of the most crazy workdays I’ve ever had, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot of “stuff” in my time as a flight attendant. After my coworker and I complete the customary safety brief, the plane takes off, and everything is OK. Then, on my way back to my seat, I hear this strange sound—a kitten meowing?—as I pass the lavatory. “Did someone lose their cat mid-flight?” comes to mind immediately.

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 holds onto this tattered tiny paper bag as if it were a lifeline without responding. I ask, trying not to cry, “All right, Ben. Pay attention. What’s inside the bag?

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 okay?” she mouths. “No idea yet,” I mouth back, gesturing for her to hold on.

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 travelling alone with an unaccompanied minor 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 was stuck in the lavatory of the aeroplane.

With a casual tone, I propose that we go to the galley at the back. “We can speak privately. I might be able to 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. She murmurs, “Should we notify the captain?” 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. She whispers, “Would you like some?” to 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. “Can you describe your parents or the person who took you to the airport?” His tiny fists clutch the sack as he frowns. 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 asks softly. 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. What is your entire 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 acting hurt? 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 minimise 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 any better?” I enquire 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 aeroplanes. 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 enjoy meeting new people and travelling. “Now I get to meet surprising people like you,” I say softly after pausing. 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. His voice quivers a little when he asks, “Can I open the bag now?” as if he’s both afraid and eager to discover what’s inside. 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 holds the letter out to me.

She stated that she is no longer able to care for me. 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 work at a certain place, or does she have a particular pastime or something your mother mentioned?

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, emphasising 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 neighbourhood 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. My heart hurts 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. His voice quivers as he asks softly, “What happens now?” 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.