it was there, somewhere, the house I’d grown up in, the house where my parents lived. If I’d had a telescope and a little more time then I’d have been able to find it. I wondered if they were there, sitting on the worn-out green velvet sofa in the living room, watching the news on the tiny television Mom had won at work in a Christmas raffle. I wondered if they thought I would be trying to get home, trying to find them. And in that instant I wanted nothing more than to do just that, to get home, to sit between their feet on the dusty carpet like I’d done as a kid, my dad ruffling my hair and
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