Planes

He stands quietly in the cul-de-sac waiting for a plane to land. He shields his eyes with his hands and looks towards the sky; his thin body leans forward, as if by stretching he might make himself that smidgen taller and closer to the sky.

“I should’ve been a pilot,” he says to anyone who comes close. “But my eyes let me down.”

He frowns as if he might be able to make his eyes what they should have been through sheer effort, then slumps, just a little, just for a few seconds.

When the planes fly low he leans a little further still, stretching his neck and chin skywards.

“Look!” He grabs my arm. “Look! This time they’re coming.”

His eyes are bright. “We have to be ready.”

“Okay, yep.” I nod. “Be with you in a second.”

His head bobbles with anticipation. I pat him on the back and walk down the steep curve of the driveway, taking care not to get my sleeve caught on the bougainvillea thorns.

“He still up there?” Karen says when I walk inside. “Don’t you think it’s time you brought him back down?”

“He’s happy enough,” I answer.

Karen tut-tuts as I peer out the window and watch him watch the sky, watch him leaning in towards the planes that never land, and for a moment I wish that my head, too, was filled with the simple wonder of things that can never be, and never wonder why.

Maree Kimberley is a part-time Ph.D. student who lives in Brisbane, Australia where it’s nearly always sunny. She holds a Bachelor of Creative Industries and a Master of Arts, both from Queensland University of Technology. She has published short stories, feature articles and a children’s book, and has several novel-length manuscripts hidden away. You can follow her on Twitter @reebee01.