48 Hours in London 

‚ÄčIn 1979, when my brother was sixteen he went to London and got detained for two days at Heathrow.  I  was fifteen,  but it was up to me to find out what happened to him because I’m kinda gifted in that area. 
He wasn’t permitted to use the phone, so I had to figure out what happened with no clues. After many phone calls to airport security,  American Embassy,  and the airline,  I was able to pin him down at the airport detention center. 
I learned the reason he was detained  was because he told customs he planned to live there. They never told me they were sending him back, but on a hunch, I thought they might be planning to do that.
For no particular reason, I  suspected he would be on a  flight from JFK that  was arriving at Will Rogers the second night.  We hadn’t spoken to him since before he left, but I talked my mother into driving to the Oklahoma City airport  airport from Altus on nothing but a hunch. 
I was nervous while watching the passengers getting off the plane. I was afraid my hunch might be wrong  since it was a long shot. 
As it turned out,  he was on that flight,  and he bounced into the terminal with his Gilligan hat and a huge smile. That made me angry. How dare he be so carefree and oblivious to what he put us through for the last 48 hours. 
The phone bill was over a thousand dollars that month.  Doc had given me a sailboat, that I was looking forward to trying out at the lake, but hadn’t yet been out in it. Doc sold the boat to pay the phone bill.
My brother soon became a world traveler. He has visited over fifty countries.
I have never been sailing.

My boat was a 12′ Challenger,  but it did look a lot like this one.