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than this…
    *
    “Yeah, I’m here.” Brent clutched the cold, shiny chrome phone and gripped one of his beat up, castoff luggage bags while he stood at the front entrance of the Los Angeles International Airport. After a great deal of fighting with his mother and a smack across his face after admitting what he’d done, she finally conceded once something out of the ordinary occurred—Dad called back… And not only did the man call back, he was demonstrative, making it clear as he spoke loudly over the other end of the phone that he wanted his son, and only a man could raise a boy to become a responsible adult. He cited Brent’s average grades, overall underachievement, and lack of direction as proof that he was needed in his life. It shocked the hell out of Brent, but the look in his mother’s eyes stole a bit of the surreal moment as the man championed for him. She looked like she was dying on her feet, so much he couldn’t relish his father’s outpouring of love. Rather, her expression dulled the wonder of it all, and broke his heart in a million pieces. It was not a picture perfect scene; the corners of the painting wore rough, and the muse to paint it a fleeting one. Lord knew he didn’t want to hurt her, but his staying wasn’t helping, either.
    “How was your flight?” the woman asked, almost timidly, breaking him out of his remembrances. He’d never heard Mama so quiet before.
    “It was good, Mama, real good. The pilot did a great job with the landing; the plane was real nice. It was a Boeing 747…” His mother kept silent for a second or two, then spoke again, much to his relief.
    “I saw you took all of your model airplanes except the USA-B173, the flying fortress.”
    His lips curved in a grin. He had no idea Mama even paid attention to his obsessive love of model airplanes, his vast collection that he prized almost above all else, let alone knew their names. It was where all his money went, the little he had. He’d been accumulating them since he was four, and his zest for this pastime never lessened. He spent much of his free time moseying around James M. Cox Dayton International Airport. It paled in comparison to LAX, nowhere near as big and security packed. Nevertheless, he loved that little airport. The place smelled like brand new textbooks and ladies’ perfume. He enjoyed walking around, watching the airplanes take off and land, even talking to the small cockpit crew from time to time. They’d gotten used to him loitering about. He’d pedal his bike for over forty minutes to get there, and if he was lucky, someone cruising down the highway would toss his bike in the back of their ride and give him a hand back home. He’d miss that place… Mama didn’t seem to care that he was out chasing planes on the weekends and after school, as long as he got his ass back in that house before she arrived home on break. She wanted his chores done, and the house clean, but she also seemed to want more—particularly him to be at home, in the flesh, to put her mind at ease. Often he surmised there was a lot about Mama he probably didn’t know…
    “I left that one for you.” He breathed in the air, noting it was a hell of a lot hotter in L.A. than in Monroe. The airport was jam packed with all sorts of people. Guys walked about with stern faces.
    I could never visit the employees in this big place…they’d lock me up…accuse me of trespassing.
    Some of the people moseying about were fancy looking ladies donning big white hats and bright red lipstick over tight mouths, walking about as if they were shit out of Hollywood’s glittery, lying ass. Others looked like skateboarders, vagabonds, but wore earnest smiles. He slicked his green jacket off as he kept the payphone propped to his ear, cradled between his shoulder and face. “I left it ’cause, well, it’s the one that we picked out together. The one I begged you for.” He smiled sadly.
    “Yes.” He could hear the smile in her tone. “I