since I had slept a whole night without looping. This peaceful nap seemed like a good omen to me, a good start. Could stress have been triggering the onslaught of loops at the hospital lately? I thought about it. Maybe. Maybe the cabin would help me to decompress, give me some time to think and figure all this out.
After my nap, I walked back to town. I spent some time in Hansen’s General Store, picking out just enough groceries that I could comfortably carry in my backpack, and I boughttwo Duraflame logs, knowing I had never paid enough attention in Girl Scouts to count on only the firewood at the cabin. I stopped in at The Stacks, a cool used bookstore. I realized while I was flipping through old vintage comics that my cheeks were hurting from smiling. I was smiling too much.
The walk back to the cabin was gorgeous. The ambergray twilight gave the snow a magical glow. It surrounded me, not too cold, feeling like insulation, like a cushion against all things bad.
But I could feel just how much my physical self had been deteriorating. I was winded, tired, light-headed by the time I reached the cabin.
I fumbled a bit with my keys at the door, sucking on some Lemonheads that I’d bought at the market. But by the time I reached up with my keys toward the doorknob, the door was open.
I looked up, startled, dropping my Lemonheads all over the ground. Someone was standing in my threshold, just inside my cabin. A man.
Dad?
I thought immediately. But no, it wasn’t him. Cowboy hat, jeans, his arms up in an “I surrender” position.
All of this registered in an instant, and I felt the whoosh and hum behind my eyes. I felt my eyes flutter, my body stiffen.
I was gone.
The Key
I’m trying to run, but I stumble over my feet. I fall onto my knees and push myself up on the heels of my hands, deciding to walk. I’m alone in a cornfield. I remember for only an instant that I should be terrified of the man in my cabin, but I’m in the loop, so serenity rules. I calmly walk through the corn rows, the stalks all taller than I am. I can’t see where I’m going exactly. But I think I know
.
Sure enough, I turn a corner then, right where I picture that I should, and I see him. My boy
.
“You found me,” he says
.
“I did,” I answer
.
“Don’t lose this,” he tells me, and hands me a silver key
.
I reach for it clumsily, my hands uncoordinated and heavy. “I won’t lose it,” I tell him. I don’t think to ask what it is or why I shouldn’t lose it
.
I pocket the key, and the boy grabs my hand. We walk slowly toward the creek
.
“They’re frogs now,” he says. I squint, and I can see two tiny frogs swimming in the shallow water near the edge. One hops onto the bank of the stream for a moment, and the boy bends down and catches it, watches it jump from one of his hands to the other. I marvel at how tiny it is. He lets it go, back into the water
.
We walk down the hill toward the farm then, and we settle on a big blue plaid blanket under an oak tree
.
He has a picnic lunch, in a real hamper with cloth napkins, with the most fantastic egg-salad sandwiches, tied up in brown paper and string
.
I love the old-fashionedness of it all, and I sit down on the picnic blanket and smile. I like it here
.
We eat our lunch together, talk about the go-cart he is building in his barn, and play tic-tac-toe. He beats me more than I beat him. After a dessert of fresh whipped cream and strawberries, I lie back on the picnic blanket
.
I start to count the leaves on the closest branch of the hanging oak, feeling so content, but then the leaves blur. They begin to have fuzzy, oddly colored edges, rainbow colors, a prism in my peripheral vision
.
I realize only then that I should ask what the key is for. I want to look at the boy and decipher exactly what period his clothes are from. I want to ask him about Dala Cabin, about the nine something. I want to ask him about Esperanza. I want to—
I’m gone again
.
Eight
I came
After my nap, I walked back to town. I spent some time in Hansen’s General Store, picking out just enough groceries that I could comfortably carry in my backpack, and I boughttwo Duraflame logs, knowing I had never paid enough attention in Girl Scouts to count on only the firewood at the cabin. I stopped in at The Stacks, a cool used bookstore. I realized while I was flipping through old vintage comics that my cheeks were hurting from smiling. I was smiling too much.
The walk back to the cabin was gorgeous. The ambergray twilight gave the snow a magical glow. It surrounded me, not too cold, feeling like insulation, like a cushion against all things bad.
But I could feel just how much my physical self had been deteriorating. I was winded, tired, light-headed by the time I reached the cabin.
I fumbled a bit with my keys at the door, sucking on some Lemonheads that I’d bought at the market. But by the time I reached up with my keys toward the doorknob, the door was open.
I looked up, startled, dropping my Lemonheads all over the ground. Someone was standing in my threshold, just inside my cabin. A man.
Dad?
I thought immediately. But no, it wasn’t him. Cowboy hat, jeans, his arms up in an “I surrender” position.
All of this registered in an instant, and I felt the whoosh and hum behind my eyes. I felt my eyes flutter, my body stiffen.
I was gone.
The Key
I’m trying to run, but I stumble over my feet. I fall onto my knees and push myself up on the heels of my hands, deciding to walk. I’m alone in a cornfield. I remember for only an instant that I should be terrified of the man in my cabin, but I’m in the loop, so serenity rules. I calmly walk through the corn rows, the stalks all taller than I am. I can’t see where I’m going exactly. But I think I know
.
Sure enough, I turn a corner then, right where I picture that I should, and I see him. My boy
.
“You found me,” he says
.
“I did,” I answer
.
“Don’t lose this,” he tells me, and hands me a silver key
.
I reach for it clumsily, my hands uncoordinated and heavy. “I won’t lose it,” I tell him. I don’t think to ask what it is or why I shouldn’t lose it
.
I pocket the key, and the boy grabs my hand. We walk slowly toward the creek
.
“They’re frogs now,” he says. I squint, and I can see two tiny frogs swimming in the shallow water near the edge. One hops onto the bank of the stream for a moment, and the boy bends down and catches it, watches it jump from one of his hands to the other. I marvel at how tiny it is. He lets it go, back into the water
.
We walk down the hill toward the farm then, and we settle on a big blue plaid blanket under an oak tree
.
He has a picnic lunch, in a real hamper with cloth napkins, with the most fantastic egg-salad sandwiches, tied up in brown paper and string
.
I love the old-fashionedness of it all, and I sit down on the picnic blanket and smile. I like it here
.
We eat our lunch together, talk about the go-cart he is building in his barn, and play tic-tac-toe. He beats me more than I beat him. After a dessert of fresh whipped cream and strawberries, I lie back on the picnic blanket
.
I start to count the leaves on the closest branch of the hanging oak, feeling so content, but then the leaves blur. They begin to have fuzzy, oddly colored edges, rainbow colors, a prism in my peripheral vision
.
I realize only then that I should ask what the key is for. I want to look at the boy and decipher exactly what period his clothes are from. I want to ask him about Dala Cabin, about the nine something. I want to ask him about Esperanza. I want to—
I’m gone again
.
Eight
I came
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