There was a brushfire in the hills on Sunday, and as we sat listening to the roar of the fire planes passing overhead, Max told me all about an unfortunate (and apocryphal) scuba diver who got sucked up into the belly of one of those planes and dropped directly into a blaze.
“W. told us about it,” he told me. “They found him in a tree.” Mia, sitting next to him, nodded solemnly.
“Wow,” I said. “That sounds like a lousy surprise when you’re scuba diving, doesn’t it?” They both concurred, and we observed a brief, respectful moment in honor of the not-really-fallen aquatourist.
And then Mia looked up and said this:
“Daddy, W. told us that once, there was someone scuba diving and there was this fire, and when one of those planes came to the water to get water to put out the fire, the scuba diver got sucked up into the plane—”
The fact that I was laughing must have distracted her from her story, because she stopped mid-sentence.
“Wait,” she said. “Have you heard this story before?”