We’re all walking, like, extra careful—like we’re in a horror movie and we’re taking a poker to the basement to check out that weird noise. This is a crazy idea. And yet, there’s something good about the way my feet hit the ground. I’m walking. Two years ago, I was locked in a third-floor classroom with only one door, and I couldn’t get out. But now I’m walking. We’re walking. We emerge into our backyard, blinking in the sunlight like cave people. There is the muffled sound of a desperate peacock, a pickup rumbling down Main Street, the wind. The real world, the now. We walk out into it
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