I still think I’m in Iron County. The sun just never rises. There’s this purple-gray bloom of color that shoots in between the black outlines where trees should be, the ground is this melded brown-green color. All the plants look obfuscated and effervescent like watercolors. And I just follow the whining. Time is losing its meaning to me. It’s hard to stomach. And I can’t stop thinking about this sinking feeling that I carry within myself. Not as sharp as sadness, but bleaker. Not as poignant as pain, but lamer. Just quiet, droning suffering that makes you feel like a loser. And I can’t escape it while I’m following this thing. But the thing is, that is why I follow it, too. I feel bad for it. And I don’t know why, but I will keep following it.

My father had led me to a hill full of mushrooms. He gathered the mushrooms while I climbed the hill. At the top of the hill, I saw a man. But he wasn’t human. He frothed at the mouth and gurgled a pale purple foam. He lumbered at me like a sleepwalker. My father told me to run, and I did. And then he screamed. And I never looked back.

You know how I said I felt awkward in the woods? I tripped into the creek bank. Shallow water, no deeper than two feet. I’m not even sure I was completely submerged. But I woke up in this world, to the moaning. To the ape sitting on the hilltop.

I don’t know where my father is. I don’t know.

It’s harder to describe the feeling of being displaced in something…else. Especially when the world never really felt like your home.

•••

Harper dog-eared the page and closed the spiral-bound book. Amelia and Harper had gone about thirty miles north to the interstate without speaking.

“Was that your ex-husband?” Harper said.

“You were awake for that, huh?” Amelia said.

“Well, I saw an old guy getting into a truck, and you guys talking downstairs woke me up, so,” Harper said.

“Well,” Amelia said, “did you hear anything?”

“Just mumbles. Then he left carrying some stuff. And all the razors are out of the bathroom so I couldn’t shave my legs this morning. So I’m guessing it’s stuff like that,” Harper said.

“Yeah. Listen, I’m sorry, but—” Amelia started.

“I understand,” Harper said, “but you don’t have to worry.”

“I always have to worry,” Amelia said, sighing.

“No, you want to worry,” Harper said, “gives you something to do.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a choice is all,” Harper said. “I’m not even your kid.”

“A person asks for help, you help them,” Amelia said.

“I didn’t ask for help,” Harper said.

“Your mother,” Amelia said.