Free Dan Versus Nature by Don Calame

was racking up on my ID bracelet. I’ve never seen Hank so close to losing it.
    “This is the last and final boarding call,” a female gate attendant announces, “for Alaska Airlines flight two-four-zero-four to Boise. All passengers should board at gate twenty-eight. Final checks are being completed, and the captain is about to order the doors of the aircraft closed.”
    “Hurry!” Hank shouts, pumping his arms faster. “We miss this flight, we miss the trip.”
    I look down at my ID bracelet strapped below my dad’s old Timex. “You’re shaking Robbie too hard. I’m getting mistreatment points.”
    “Aw, Christ.” Hank takes the baby from under his arm and holds him against his shoulder, like a real baby.
    Baby Robbie immediately stops crying.
    We sprint past gates seventeen, eighteen, nineteen . . .
    “Jesus,” Hank huffs, his head twisted toward the gate numbers. “It has to be at the end of the terminal, of course.”
    Just then Charlie trips and goes flying, his body and his backpack tumbling over each other like he was thrown from a speeding car.
    I stop. Look back.
    Charlie reaches a hand in the air like he’s drowning. He wheezes, “Go on . . . without me! Don’t miss . . . the plane! I’ll get . . . a taxi home.”
    “Like hell!” I race back to Charlie, grab his outstretched arm, and yank him to his feet. “You’re not bailing on me now.”
    “Stop messing around!” Hank hollers over his shoulder, still trucking it toward the far end of the terminal, the baby jiggling on his shoulder. “Move!”
    “You have . . . the list. And my . . . supplies,” Charlie says. “You don’t . . . need me anymore.”
    “That stuff is useless if I freeze up,” I say. “I need you egging me on. Besides, you owe me, remember?”
    Charlie sighs and hoists his backpack onto his shoulders. “I guess . . . it’s nice to be needed.”
    I stagger off once more, dragging a stumbling Charlie behind me.
    “Wait!” Hank bellows to the Alaska Airlines agent as she’s shutting the doors to gate twenty-eight. “Don’t close that! We’re here. We’re here.” Hank turns and waves Charlie and me forward toward the empty waiting lounge. “Come on, guys.”
    The agent
tsk
s us. “Cutting it pretty close, aren’t we, fellas?” But she pulls the glass door open again, then stands behind the podium to scan our tickets.
    “Thank you . . . so much,” Hank says, trying to catch his breath.
    “Cute . . . doll?” the attendant says, furrowing her brow.
    “Oh.” Hank flushes. “Yeah, it’s, uh, a school project. My stepson’s. Here.” He passes Baby Robbie to me, then pulls our boarding passes from his pocket and hands them to the agent. “Thanks again. We really appreciate it.”
    The agent takes the tickets, scans them, and gives him a twinkling grin. “My pleasure.”
    I guess these are the times when it really helps if you look like a handsome movie star.
    “Holy moly.” Hank huffs and puffs as we head down the Jetway and wipes his sweaty brow. “That was too close for comfort.”
    “Truly,” Charlie says, fastening a surgical mask over his nose and mouth. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t augur a disastrous trip.”
    “What’s with the mask, Charlie?” Hank asks.
    I guffaw. “Yeah, you planning on performing an operation on the flight or something?”
    “How very amusing, Daniel,” Charlie says as we step onto the plane, his voice muffled through the mask. “Airplanes are one of the world’s largest breeding grounds for bacteria and germs. You’re one hundred and thirteen times more likely to catch rhinovirus or influenza during a flight than during your normal daily life.” He tugs a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket and snaps them on as we make our way down the aisle. “I’m just taking the proper precautions.”
    I shrug, watching the other passengers stare at him. “I guess if you don’t mind looking like a freak.”
    “Yes, Daniel, I’m the freak.” Charlie shoots me