i trace my finger across the map, my skin brushing gently over the red and blue lines that will take me somewhere i've never been before. it's a strange sensation, watching the path i will take in barely a few hours. i raise my head and stare out the window past the perfectly manicured homes and towering pine trees. the sun sets just above the leaves, kissing them goodnight with its golden rays. in just a few hours, i will walk the path of the stars.

there are things we all dream about. mum dreams of beautiful things. you dream of words that take your breath away. we all dream of stars and adventures and mountains.

i dream of being whole.

i dream that one day i'll walk down the road and take the familiar path until my feet carry me away from everything i've ever known. they'll take me to stranger places, stranger things. i'll go to places i've only seen in books. i'll snap pictures with the blurred lens of your old polaroid, and when i look at them, maybe they'll be crystal clear. maybe one of these days i'll find the missing part of me that always seems to be lost.

"how do you know a piece of you is missing if you've never felt it there before?' you asked me that morning when the first spring rain fell. we stepped through the puddles in our bare feet, little girls once more before we had to run back home. i stooped down to fix the cuff of my rolled up jeans. water dripped through my hair and down my nose, and you covered me with the umbrella. it was the old one with holes in it, and water still spilled through the top and soaked your pale hand clutched around the handle.

i stood and took the umbrella from you so you could dry your pruning fingers on your shirt. "there are some things you just know," i said.  "you don't have to feel them before."

"what's missing?" you took the umbrella back and dropped it to your side, twirling it in circles that sent water droplets flying everywhere.

i didn't have an answer for you. i swung around a lamp-post and smiled. there are some things that, strange enough, make you happy to not know. it's like realizing that there's still a bit of yourself left to discover. a part of you that you didn't know existed. a little thrill ran through my spine, but at the same time sadness filled the cavity in my heart that keeps me looking. so i hooked my arm through yours and answered, "i don't know."

the sun goes down and i fold the map up and put it in my bag. i put on the dream-catcher earrings you gave me last spring, for good luck. as i step out into the hall, you bounce out of your room and wrap your arms around me in a huge hug. i hug you back, then exit through the front door to the car. my bags are already stacked in the trunk. i open them one last time, checking everything, then i sit in the drivers seat and turn the keys in the ignition.

the road is long and empty, despite being planted in the middle of the city. i watch the moon come out from behind the clouds as i drive, and my mind begins to wander. it goes back to that time you flopped on my bed in the middle of the night. "i can't sleep."

i was awake of course. you knew i would be. i groaned and rolled over on my side anyways. the day had been gray and dull and i didn't want to talk. "go to bed. the sun isn't out yet."

"if life was all sunshine, you wouldn't be able to see the stars," you said. then you grabbed my arm and dragged me out of bed, you little insomniac. from off my dresser you snatched my flashlight and then grabbed an extra blanket out of the closet. in four bounces you had crossed the creaky wood floors and popped open the windowsill. we crawled through the window and landed on the soft grass outside. you slipped your hand in mine and pulled me across the backyard to the shed, where we grabbed our bikes. we helped each other tie the blankets around our necks like capes, and giggled. we were still kids then. we didn't think about growing up.

i followed you as you pushed your bike through the thin stretch of pine trees to the deserted road on the other side. i didn't know where you were taking us, and now that i remember it, you didn't really know either, did you? you just went where your mind wandered. you took us down that street to the pasture in the middle of suburbia, where the city lights don't seem to exist.

the tall grass whipped around our bare feet as we carved a trail forward, to the top of the hill where the old oak used to stand. finally, panting and sweaty, we dropped our bikes and spread our blankets amidst the grass. i flopped down beside you, and all the gray murk of earlier dissipated.

the cosmos stretched before us in wave after wave after wave. i listened to the sweet lull of your voice is as you pointed out the different constellations. it was one second that i closed my eyes, maybe half. maybe now you'll regret taking me there than night, because in that second was when everything became clear. and i know you don't want me to go, but because of you i'm going on the adventure that will make me whole.

i hope you understand.

the road is vacant as i slow to a stop, my blinker clicking rhythmically. i glance at the clock. it's been several hours since i left home. you're probably sleeping, if you're not watching the stars again. the city lights don't exist here, so i pull onto the empty country road to my right and park it by a long split-rail fence. i climb between the rails and tug my jacket tighter around my body. it's not cold, but it brings back the coziness of home.

i wander into the middle of the wild field. nothing seems to exist out here except for the stars and my breath and the crickets chirping in the grass. there's a small hill in the distance like the one we used to climb so long ago when days were gray and dull. thunder echoes through the valley. the air smells like rain, reminding me of puddles and holey umbrellas and being kids again. watch the stars, i tell myself. but i don't see the constellations you used to try to make me see. i see planets glowing orange and comets slicing through the darkness and distant nebulae flickering gently.

i pull out the crumpled note you slipped into my pocket when you thought i wasn't paying attention. "the stars are our guides," it says in your sweeping, free-hand. my gaze turns back to the sky. i begin to see the messages you say God left there for us to discover. and for the first time in a long time, i feel as if i'm close to being whole.

the rain begins to fall. i run back to my car and drive on through the thundering downpour. the last piece of me is just around the bend. the journey you inspired is taking me there. and i know you didn't want me to go, but i promise i'll be back to show you what i found. all those questions you asked me will have answers, and little sister, maybe you'll be having the same adventure.


So this was part experimentation with a voice I'm trying to develop for a small project. The other part is little details and pieces of story I've had swirling around my head for a few weeks. And it's the product of the urge to write something. I haven't really been writing much recently, and it felt good to let this fall out of my imagination.

On another note, I would just like to point y'all to Savannah's blog. Her writing is so lovely, and she has some really inspiring pieces that make you think. Just thought I'd share for those who aren't already reading it. :)