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I sat on the landing at the top of the stairs and counted the steps to the bottom. Thirteen. I knew that if the dream caught me, I would leave my tummy at the top and land lightly at the bottom. Only the thick-shaded light above my head was on; downstairs was a mystery. My flying record was six steps but that was in the daytime. Night meant I didn’t know. I just had to let go and see. I took off, spreading my arms like the Comet. As I flew, I counted the steps. Twelve.
March 10, 2017