decide between this world and another. They moved mechanically, following
the shape in front of them injudiciously. Once they got closer to my light,
their silhouette disintegrated, floating to the ground like particles of dust.
It was the pain in my knee
that frightened me more than the phantom figures. They, at least, were to be expected on this nightmare journey,
but not this pain. I had to drag my leg back to the bench to avoid
putting weight on it. Mom had pain in her knee too, just before we knew about
the cancer. Standing there, staring dumbly at my knee, I felt hot tears
dripping.
“Never enter a dark doorway.
Promise me, Sarah.” Her eyes had been so fixated.
I’ve disappointed you,
Mom.
“Sarah, did you see this?”
Michael never noticed the tears; he was in work mode, male protection mode,
find-a-solution-to-this-problem mode.
“What?”
“Here,” he pointed out as I
sat back down. “Gabi drew these squiggly lines. I think this might be the
Chicago River. Except it’s right next to campus.”
“Hmm ,"
I responded, massaging my knee. " You know, I remember that the
North Branch forks up there. One fork goes north into Evanston and one goes
northwest into Skokie.”
“Oh, so maybe Gabi really was
drawing the same river we’re on now?”
“I don’t know. This isn’t
exactly professional cartography.” I took the map back from Michael, the edges
flapping up at me happily. Its delicate fluttering reminded me that I had been
too quick to disregard the details of Gabi’s treasure map. I had overlooked so
much in my single-mindedness, looking only at the endpoint.
“Look,” Michael said. “The
map shows a path along the river, but at this point, her directions veer off.”
He pointed at what looked like a simple line. “What could this line be?”
We both shook our heads,
trying to imagine what a straight line across squiggly lines could mean to a
three-year-old. The purple and yellow color coding didn’t help much.
“Michael! Look!” Out our
window, we could see the outline of the fourth bridge behind us. With the
rivers’ movements below it, we suddenly understood Gabi’s message, the straight
line over squiggly: a bridge . “But which bridge did she mean? And how do
we get off the boat?”
We had let down our guard,
let our voices rise. Eliza could hear us as she stood in the doorway of our
cabin. Michael saw her first, his jaw dropping open. As I turned to see what
had caught his attention, Eliza had already begun to inch closer, expanding
without moving.
Hers was a countenance of
beauty mixed with malice, a beauty that only frightened me more. Those sharp
green eyes pierced out at us from behind her suddenly gorgeous brunette mane.
She apparently took better care of herself on the boat.
“Sarah. Michael. So nice to
have you with us. I trust you’re enjoying yourselves. Sarah, how’s that knee?”
***
Dreams can fool you, trick
you into thinking they actually happened. Swanson once had me read a book by
Daniel Everett, a fellow linguist, on the Pirahã people. Apparently, they
believe that their dreams are an extended reality, that whatever one dreams
actually happens. I was beginning to wonder if they had been on to something.
Watching our bodies drift
along the Chicago River and Eliza expand toward us– that felt like a
dream. Finding Mom in her kitchen, making me my favorite vegetarian tortilla
soup– that felt real.
Mom looked just how I
remembered her, beaming her vibrant smile before the chemo treatments started.
Her arms and legs were so strong, graceful even. Every inch of her glowed, from
her thick, dark hair to her fair skin. The most amazing feature was that she
was simply there. My mom.
“You’re enjoying your
classes?”
“I am. I’m done with my
coursework though. Swanson has me working on this indigenous language program
for my fellowship.”
She cupped her hands around
my face, adoring me like she always did. “My
the shape in front of them injudiciously. Once they got closer to my light,
their silhouette disintegrated, floating to the ground like particles of dust.
It was the pain in my knee
that frightened me more than the phantom figures. They, at least, were to be expected on this nightmare journey,
but not this pain. I had to drag my leg back to the bench to avoid
putting weight on it. Mom had pain in her knee too, just before we knew about
the cancer. Standing there, staring dumbly at my knee, I felt hot tears
dripping.
“Never enter a dark doorway.
Promise me, Sarah.” Her eyes had been so fixated.
I’ve disappointed you,
Mom.
“Sarah, did you see this?”
Michael never noticed the tears; he was in work mode, male protection mode,
find-a-solution-to-this-problem mode.
“What?”
“Here,” he pointed out as I
sat back down. “Gabi drew these squiggly lines. I think this might be the
Chicago River. Except it’s right next to campus.”
“Hmm ,"
I responded, massaging my knee. " You know, I remember that the
North Branch forks up there. One fork goes north into Evanston and one goes
northwest into Skokie.”
“Oh, so maybe Gabi really was
drawing the same river we’re on now?”
“I don’t know. This isn’t
exactly professional cartography.” I took the map back from Michael, the edges
flapping up at me happily. Its delicate fluttering reminded me that I had been
too quick to disregard the details of Gabi’s treasure map. I had overlooked so
much in my single-mindedness, looking only at the endpoint.
“Look,” Michael said. “The
map shows a path along the river, but at this point, her directions veer off.”
He pointed at what looked like a simple line. “What could this line be?”
We both shook our heads,
trying to imagine what a straight line across squiggly lines could mean to a
three-year-old. The purple and yellow color coding didn’t help much.
“Michael! Look!” Out our
window, we could see the outline of the fourth bridge behind us. With the
rivers’ movements below it, we suddenly understood Gabi’s message, the straight
line over squiggly: a bridge . “But which bridge did she mean? And how do
we get off the boat?”
We had let down our guard,
let our voices rise. Eliza could hear us as she stood in the doorway of our
cabin. Michael saw her first, his jaw dropping open. As I turned to see what
had caught his attention, Eliza had already begun to inch closer, expanding
without moving.
Hers was a countenance of
beauty mixed with malice, a beauty that only frightened me more. Those sharp
green eyes pierced out at us from behind her suddenly gorgeous brunette mane.
She apparently took better care of herself on the boat.
“Sarah. Michael. So nice to
have you with us. I trust you’re enjoying yourselves. Sarah, how’s that knee?”
***
Dreams can fool you, trick
you into thinking they actually happened. Swanson once had me read a book by
Daniel Everett, a fellow linguist, on the Pirahã people. Apparently, they
believe that their dreams are an extended reality, that whatever one dreams
actually happens. I was beginning to wonder if they had been on to something.
Watching our bodies drift
along the Chicago River and Eliza expand toward us– that felt like a
dream. Finding Mom in her kitchen, making me my favorite vegetarian tortilla
soup– that felt real.
Mom looked just how I
remembered her, beaming her vibrant smile before the chemo treatments started.
Her arms and legs were so strong, graceful even. Every inch of her glowed, from
her thick, dark hair to her fair skin. The most amazing feature was that she
was simply there. My mom.
“You’re enjoying your
classes?”
“I am. I’m done with my
coursework though. Swanson has me working on this indigenous language program
for my fellowship.”
She cupped her hands around
my face, adoring me like she always did. “My
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