Dad lived on about 150 acres of what he called heaven. It was only accessible by taking I-67 for about an hour, until you come to the exit with an old truck stop named Pete’s Gas, and continue on a narrow two-lane for another thirty-forty minutes, before the road suddenly turns to gravel.

Bobby always acted weird. In third grade, he sat at a desk next to me. When the street sweeper machine drove down Arrellaga Street on Wednesday mornings, our class would jump up, run to the row of tall windows and wave to its driver – all except Bobby. He would hurry to the opposite side of the classroom and stand in the corner, facing the wall.

My Persian cat is lying in my bed. Let me rephrase. My Persian cat Atossa is lying in my bed impersonating—flawlessly—me. A promising sight. A beautiful thing. 

I, on the other hand, am perched on the windowsill. It’s daybreak. 

The golden waves roll in the wheat fields below as I peer at the blue sky shielded from all hostile satellites. In a most advanced jet born in the most secretive way, I cruise through the air of the last bastion insulated from all known types of infiltration. In less than a minute, I will face the enemy pilot one-on-one.

She opens her eyes, half in the blankets, listening to the passage of heavy feet pass overhead. Rising and moving toward the bathroom, she braces the wall with one hand, passing a scarred wooden dresser. The photos lie flat there, in a half-circle, like playing cards. She stops.

When I turned thirty, I sold my place on the lake and moved to the mountains. To the Upper Engadine, that is, still the swiftest, surest way to Everness. 

My friends and acquaintances were incredulous, my parents crestfallen.

I could see myself in my grandfather’s eyes. We stood on the east side of the Mississippi River, gazing out as the city’s skyline reflected upon the rippling waters. I’d always thought the river was a place that was full of secrets. It harbors them, and then it carries them away.

No one can be sure of when, exactly, the man with the machine was first spotted on his favored park bench (or the circumstances of his arrival, for that matter) because no one can remember. In those days the sun rose and the sun set. The sun set and the sun rose. One day we knew nothing about the man or his machine.