A Home After All

The rabbit was worn out now. One ear drooped sideways, and the fur had gone thin in patches.

But it was the first thing I had ever received in this home. I could not leave it behind.

The moon bracelet was from Dad. He had brought it back from a business trip, and my name was engraved on the tiny charm.

Last, I took the family photo.

It had been taken not long after I came here five years ago. In the picture, Mom and Dad held me between them, and I was smiling so wide my eyes disappeared.

I wrapped the frame carefully in the sweater and tucked it between the clothes.

That way, when I missed them, I could take it out and look at it.

When everything was packed, I closed the suitcase and pulled the zipper around.

It was heavier than it had been when I arrived. I tried lifting it and just barely managed.

Outside, the sky had gone completely dark.

I sat on the suitcase and waited for Mom and Dad to come home.

When they got back, if they really wanted to send me away, I would say, "Okay. I already packed."

And if they asked me to stay?

Then I would put the suitcase back under the bed and pretend none of this had happened.

Seven o'clock.

Eight o'clock.

Nine o'clock.

They still were not home.

Were they giving me time on purpose? Waiting for me to take the hint and leave on my own?

Maybe I should be sensible.

At 9:05, I stood up and looked around my room one last time.

My unfinished homework lay open on my desk. The comforter on my bed had been aired out by Mom the day before, and it still smelled faintly of sunshine.

On the windowsill sat the little plant Mom and I had planted together. We had promised to watch it sprout, grow, and bloom.

I guess I would not get to see that anymore.

I closed my bedroom door as quietly as I could, pulled the suitcase through the living room, and stepped out of the apartment.

A gust of cold wind hit me in the face. I shivered and wrapped the red scarf tighter around my neck.

Then I dragged the suitcase into the night.

There were not many people in the apartment complex. A few late commuters hurried past, but no one paid attention to a little girl pulling a suitcase by herself.

The streetlights stretched my shadow and the suitcase's shadow long across the pavement.

The truth was, I no longer remembered exactly where the children's home was. I only had a blurry sense that it was somewhere west, so I kept walking that way.

By the fourth intersection, my arm ached so badly I could barely lift it.

The crosswalk was wide. Halfway across, the suitcase wheel caught in a dip in the road.

I pulled, but it would not move.

So I crouched down and tried to lift it free.

That was when a blinding light swept in from my right.

It was so bright I could not open my eyes.

I heard the shriek of brakes.

Then something hit me hard.

It did not hurt.

It really did not hurt at all.

I only felt myself flying, light as a feather.

Then I saw my suitcase overturned on the road, my clothes and toys scattered everywhere.

My vision blurred. My ears rang.

Footsteps rushed toward me. People shouted. I could not make out what anyone was saying.

When I became aware again, I was floating in the air.

I looked down and saw a crowd gathered on the road.

In the middle of it lay a little girl in a red scarf, surrounded by clothes and toys.

Her eyes were closed. She looked very quiet.

When I saw her face, I startled.

That was me.

The ambulance lights flashed red and blue, washing everyone's faces in strange colors.

Paramedics knelt beside me, doing something I could not understand.