Corbin had no interest in dinosaurs.
“They’re not spooky.”
We spent our second morning in Tokyo at the National Museum of Nature and Science anyway.
Past the ticket gates, escalators crossed an open atrium, connecting floors beneath white walls and glass.
We worked our way down.
Tyrannosaurus. Stegosaurus. Ankylosaurs.
The skeletons towered overhead. The boys ran past them.
In the basement, a giant plesiosaur hung from the ceiling, stretched across the room.
Corbin stopped.
He walked underneath it, craning his neck.
“What’s that one?”
“Plesiosaur.”
“Plee-see-oh-saur.”
At the gift shop, he passed the other stuffed animals.
“I want the plesiosaur.”
~
When we left the museum and squeezed onto the crowded bus at Ueno Park, the four of us became separated by the shuffle of bodies.
Dani found a seat on one side, Avery curling into her lap.
I landed across the aisle with Corbin, his new plesiosaur stuffy tight against his chest.
The bus lurched forward, and then a small gesture—so slight I almost missed it.
From across the aisle and beside us, an older man in a brown-brimmed hat extended one tentative finger toward Corbin’s dinosaur.
The finger wiggled, hesitated, then dipped into the plush animal’s mouth.
A beat passed.
Then the man yanked his hand back in exaggerated pain.
The man laughed.
The game was on.
The plesiosaur stuffy “bit” again, reaching its long neck across the bus.
The man feigned agony.
Corbin erupted—pure, delighted laughter—loud enough to turn heads.
Soon, even the surrounding passengers smiled or leaned in, letting their eyes join the game even if they didn’t speak a word.
Tokyo buses are silent, orderly, restrained. But for those seconds, ours wasn’t.
A moment later, something small and colorful dropped into Corbin’s lap. A twisting puzzle toy, bright plastic, jointed and snappy.
He looked up, startled.
“Say, thank you”
But Corbin grinned at me instead.
“You tricked me! You silly, funny boy!”
He twisted the toy into a circle, then leaned across the aisle and set it into another man’s open bag.
That man—toothless, soft-eyed—laughed into his chest.
I retrieved the toy and handed it back to him.
“No, you Silly Funny Boy. It came from him.”
I pointed at the man in the hat.
Corbin laughed.
“You tricked me!”
Then he put the toy back into the wrong man’s bag, and the game continued.
Another stop came and went.
The man in the hat pretended to groan once more as the dinosaur snapped at his fingers.
Corbin looked from one passenger to another.
Then he handed his toy back to the man with the hat.
“Thank you.”
The man looked a little surprised but nodded.
I nodded back.
Then I lifted Corbin from his seat, the plesiosaur trailing behind him.
~
His brother fell asleep before dinner.
I crossed the street to 7-Eleven with Corbin and asked him to choose something for Avery.
We wandered the aisles for a minute before pointing to a plastic container of ketchup spaghetti with sliced hot dogs.
“Are you sure?”
Only a few days earlier he’d declared no both ketchup and hot dogs “yucky.”
He nodded.
“Avery will like it.”
Back in the hotel room, I handed Avery his dinner.
Corbin climbed onto the bed beside him, clutching his new plesiosaur.