Over the past year I’ve had recurring dreams involving water. I am usually standing on an embankment watching as people dive into flowing rivers and oceans and transform into glistening fish and seals. The water is cool and clear and ripples over their smooth animal bodies, and I am filled with desire to join the swimmers and be carried away by the current. In her book, Everybody, Olivia Liang asks you to imagine what it would be like to inhabit a body without fear. Maybe that is what I’m doing as I stand on the embankments.

I’ve always felt drawn to a cabin in the woods. 

When I feel shackled, smoke-signals from a faraway chimney call out to me. They whisper tales of warmth, perfect imperfections and eccentric decorations. A cozy life, built on humble grounds. 

Is it the promise of isolation that feels so freeing? The quiet? 

There are so many last times, and you never know, at the time, that they are last times. The last time I dyed my hair red. The last word you say to a teacher as you leave their classroom. The last book I read to Eva. The last time Leo reached for my hand. The last time I carried Leo, his warm head on my shoulder, thinking only of getting him to bed. You stop and don’t start again. You don’t notice the stopping until much later. 

But when I said goodbye to my father, I knew. That was it. 

I almost cried today when I saw you. 

It happened last week too. I thought it was just because of The Sparkling – you know, when the morning sunlight hits rippling water and you’re listening to Coldplay at the same time. 

But today was gusty and gloomy, and Mumford & Sons, so it didn’t quite make sense. 

My quiet suburban street feels like a highway. A narrow, two-way road speckled with glass and bits of cars from fast drivers’ failed passes. There is always construction. The sounds of hammers and drills blend with bird songs, trampolines and barking. Between the street and my house is a red brick fence that glows in the afternoon sun. Slender silver trails wind up and over the recessed mortar, traversing cracks and weeds. The webs of glittery tracks merge at the base of the chipped metal flap and disappear into the hollow chamber. The place where the outside world tries to reach me.