waiting in the pickup line
Happy screams and squeals of laughter came from lots of kids with backpacks as they raced to each vehicle. Where was Sam?
the walk to the mailbox
A brisk west wind forced itself across my face, braising it with its icy fingers. I tugged at my scarf, adjusting it so it would cover more of my face. These last few days had been brutal.
don’t stop believing
I opened my car door into the bitter cold, and there was no radio or thoughts of my own to distract me from what I saw next.
i didn’t go outside
I realize I’m not outside. I didn’t grab my coat, but instead I’m standing frozen still by the window, just watching.
by the window
She sat by the window as she rode the bus home from school. This was the only time when Sam felt safe – in this long moving vehicle with her peers and an adult driving, looking out for her safety.
again and again
It’s strange how often waking up feels like déjà vu. Like we’ve done this before. The same throbbing temple, signaling dehydration, draws us from a deep sleep. No amount of water can take it away. It stays, lingers, swarming our head.