The Measure

by Nikki Erlick

Flying, to Ben, always felt like sidestepping time, the hours on an airplane existing outside the normal continuum of life below. But never before had he so clearly exited one world and returned to another.

Then the man started singing deliriously, conducting an invisible orchestra with his hands. “Little boxes, little boxes, little boxes made of ticky tacky .

Surrounded by the news all day, Nina could never escape the strings.

to talk about how people react to something they can’t understand.”

Not sure why that one stuck with me. Maybe it was the oddness of seeing such a private sentiment displayed so publicly. I almost felt embarrassed to read it. Or maybe it was just the name Gertrude.