Because I’d been so busy recounting all that went wrong, I didn’t realize we were in their midst until we were submerged at their core, waiting for them to be seen…

Listen to Brianna read this piece. If I could somehow translate the unspoken path my mother and I shared, it would be like walking a footbridge paved with books. She and I were bookends, shelving one another’s histories into place …

The Pages Between Us Read more »

“For each question about a new Navajo word, your mother would chortle and wave you off. Wannabe she’d hiss, exasperated, her hands hiding a grin…”

“Grief met me there, at the footbridge of the hotel where she’d brought her corn maidens towering to life under her fingertips, where they stood even now, waiting in the moonglow with open arms…”

Together we listened to your gloved fists cutting the air in quick swishes, each hit thudding into me…

I waved and, for an instant, something like sadness flashed in your eyes. Your grin faltered and you stared back into the blinding sunlight, revving your engine…

“You were awestruck the moment he truly saw you, an untethered balloon, fighting against crosswinds and carelessness, and still nursing your flame back to life…”

“We could hear the squealing churn of van tires slicked with mud and adrenaline, carving deep into deserts soaked with rain…”

“It’s here, rising first into steam, then fog, until you dissipate and there’s nothing left at all…”

“The sky broke open in rain hammering down so fast it smeared the mountains. We shot back across the field in screams…”