About an hour into the flight, my stomach declared war. I started farting every few minutes, and the smell was so unbelievably bad that I thought I was going to die. My wife looked like she was fighting for survival, and my kid was barely breathing next to me.
People kept saying the same thing: “Yeah, he fell, but it wasn’t that bad.” The height changed depending on who you asked. Some said eight feet. Some said he landed on his feet. Nobody ever mentioned the sound, or the way his head had looked. It tracks. I’m the new kid.