Author: Mary Miles

Lights in the Fog

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The fog outside is so thick. I stare out at it as though staring at it long enough will make it go away. I long to see the stars that are surely shining down already, way up above the clouds. Last night I saw them. I walked out of town, walked and walked until I came to a farmer’s field, when I stepped off the path and started out through the frost-laden dead ends of corn stalks and soft dirt. Someone passing on a bike laughed as I crunched my first few steps, then they were gone and I was alone. I was invisible in the darkness with only stars and moon above. The moon hides tonight, blanketed in the fog. Is she tired of showing her beauty? I should excuse her, but her rest makes me restless. It can be lonely living an ocean away from my family and most close friends, especially in the darkest hours of the winter, but lights in the sky connect us anywhere in the world.

Lethargically I dress for a run. Although the sun set two hours ago, I haven’t been outside yet today. It’ll be cold I’m sure, but I don’t know how much yet. I strap on a headlamp over my hat, just in case, and take a deep breath before opening the door.

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Upstairs

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In my grandparents’ backyard in Syracuse, NY stood the small red playhouse my grandfather had built for my mother and her sister when they were children. Tin cups and plates were strewn in a box in the “kitchen” where my siblings and I spent hours pretending to cook or eat or chat like our parents. But as much fun as we had in the kitchen, the coveted spot in the playhouse was its attic, the upstairs that you could only get in by climbing a ladder from the ground floor. There was just one rule: you couldn’t go up until you were five years old. Being the youngest of four children, I waited with anticipation for my fifth birthday so I could finally look out the attic window, roughly level with my grandfather’s head.

The first time we visited my grandparents after I turned five, I don’t even know if I went into the big house first, or if I just ran into the backyard, through the little white door, up the ladder and onto the rough wooden floor of the attic. There was barely room to sit. The low ceiling had nails still sticking through, and the small window let in just enough light for me to see how dusty it was. And yet, all I really remember was the feeling of exhilaration of finally being Up There.

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