"We need you to come home."
The airport looks as it always does, the tense vibrating air over people's heads, the way smoke lingers curbside. How many times have I stood on these polished floors, tingling in anticipation, calm in its familiarity? Today my nerves wrought the air out of my lungs; I couldn't see the peace for all the darkness that lay ahead.
I make plans for arrival. Invite myself to beds and couches of those who love me. Their open arms bring tears to my eyes, but it might just be the trip. The airplane lights turn off. New York disappears under billowing clouds.
I will not sleep.
I need me to go home.
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