Danny and I went way back. Flight school, CFI… we did everything together. We drank beers on our days off – never talking about it but sharing the pain that was flight instructing. He was a part of my family and I was a part of his.

We went our separate ways. He went to United. I went to a different airline. But service is all we’ve ever known. We took an oath. We were brothers.

I can still see him now, standing at the podium. Wanting to get home to his family. Hopeful for his days off. He had a baby he hadn’t met yet but he never mentioned it.

I got the last seat in the back and Danny was first in line for the jumpseat. “I’ll see you down there, you son of a bitch,” I called out. He only laughed.

I went down to the airplane but Danny never showed. The Skywest captain saw him at the gate and denied him the jumpseat as the agent was about to print the pass. The pushback seemed to last an eternity. His face pressed against the glass of Terminal 2, looking on as the last flight out of the hell that is Chicago O’Hare left him behind is forever etched in my memory.

Why Danny? Why not me? I ask myself these questions every day. At night, I dream that Danny got the last seat in the back.

Fuck war.