What to do when something odd calls outside your window in the dead of night.
“Ma?” Amalia called out loudly into the void as she sat up in her bed. There was no response. Somewhere outside of the apartment, heavy steps descended a stairway. It wasn’t her.
I've always been an avid daydreamer. I can vividly recall summer afternoons standing idly in the right field of a little league game, mitt and hand on knees, waiting for a fly ball that almost never came. During those long fifteen minute spans spent standing, waiting, doing absolutely nothing, my ten-year-old mind had plenty of time to gaze up at the cloud-filled sky and contemplate the mysteries of the universe. I remember thinking about the strangeness of life, about what life as an adult might be like, about the existence of a higher power.
This is a dry run. One of many. I know the path so well I can find in the pitch black of night. I have before. I won't last that long tonight, at least I don't think. But I don't know, I never know. Maybe this is not the dry run. Maybe this is the real thing. I can't know. I don't know my future self as well as I should. In truth I'm a little afraid of him. I have no assumptions on who he will be when I meet him in the depths of the grass.