I'm on a plane again, and I feel so heavy that how can the wings possibly lift us into the air? We're trapped. I'm trapped.
Becky called with the news that Mom's had a reversal. She's back in the hospital. We have no time.
But it takes so much time to fly--first to anywhere I can get a flight to the U.S., and then the hours over the pole.
Oslo, which means one more flight, and then buses home.
My hands fidget like birds in cages, but I'm too restless to do anything.
Fear and grief sag in my gut--along with my last letter to Sevario. I told him I wasn't ready--which was a lie. How can I lie to someone I like so much? Is that what it is? Nattering through this takes my mind off my mother.
I could have told Sevario there'd been a death in the family--but that's a lie. No one has died. Not yet.
I'm scared--all the while the engines are revving up and the plane taxis down to the runway, while it gathers speed and somehow, against any physics I trust, lifts into the air.
Then my hands are tired of feeling empty. I pick up my needles and yarn.