(I) Past: On one of the many nights he decided spontaneously that murdering his entire family was an extraordinary notion, he stumbled to the basement in his perpetual fog of marijuana and psychopathy and cut the main power lines in the middle of the night. Bellowing out his threats and cradling his automatic at his side, he announced that he would hunt each and every one of them down. A small, fragile girl curled up in an empty stairwell, grasping her knees to her chest and trying not to shift and cause the unsteady boards to creak beneath her. She felt her mind go blank and begin to recede, like a tide going out, along with all the blood that remained in her body. You can almost feel her cold skin against the white wall. You can almost hear her breathing.
(II) Future: Enveloped by a pink cocoon of silk at the end of aerial yoga, the instructor calls her to go to a place in her mind where she feels truly safe. She senses the persistence of gravity, pulling her body ever back to the earth, and her brain shutters and quakes uneasily as the concept of safety unfurls in her mind. And yet, from this place, hovering quietly above the callous ground, she allows herself to drift into a visualization. In her mind’s eye, she watches herself transitioning her body across the sky, from a rig hanging between two trees, in a small green yard that she has learned to call her own. You can almost sense someone watching her from the window. Someone she has allowed, at last, to truly know her. Someone loving her. Someone watching her fly.