I knew by the shapes of the trees we were almost home. I wasn’t sleeping. We had reached the spot where the trees changed and I heard them say I was sleeping. Flying and falling were my only dreams then and they just repeated but in different ways. One day it would all make sense. I stayed quiet and waited. Sometimes I lied. I kept watching those trees. We were back on our street again. For awhile at least, I would keep on pretending; I would let myself be carried inside.
Emily Darrell just received her Master’s in journalism from the University of Montana and recently spent a year in Romania teaching journalism at The University of Bucharest.