Sing It Sappily

I look out over the airplane wing, swirl the ice in my Sprite Zero, and put my head on Mr. Whine’s shoulder.

“It’s so haaaaard,” I say, half speaking, half sighing.  “They’re all such great programs…  I think it just comes down to where you think we could be happy, where we could make a home for the next 5-7 years.”  The noise of the engines makes my voice seem small and unsure.

Mr. Whine gives me that crinkled-eye smile that makes it impossible for me to fret.

“Any of those places would be great…  And, besides, home is wherever I’m with you.”

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