Do you know how to fly? I used to fly every day when I was younger. My feet would be touching the ground, and then my parents would take my hands and toss me up into the sky. I felt so magical, so weightless. A tiny little girl in pink sparkly shoes, drifting through this vast grey world. Sometimes, I felt like we were standing on the faded palm of a forgotten specter. Nothing seemed real, like I wasn’t even there at all. But when I was flying, I felt everything. I was so loved. We were standing in a sprawling airport hallway. I could feel the wind on my cheeks, the scent of coffee and new seats—like the car showroom my dad used to take me to, but different. The sky outside was overcast, the clouds thin and ghostly, letting timid sunlight mix with the silver dust of rain. My mom said that when she was little, airports weren’t like this. I had always known them as sleek and polished, with metallic walls reflecting light and towering gates leading to autopilot planes. But when she was my age, she’d stand in line for hours to board a colossal white aircraft, packed with strangers. And she never knew who would sit beside her. That must’ve been so fun. It was all so fun. Then we walked up to Autopilot Plane Number 3 and started boarding. It told me its name was Alvin, and it was all set to fly me to Canberra, Australia. “_Fly us_,” I corrected. Then my dad turned to me. His deep green eyes were like fishponds, and at the bottom of them lay something heavy and sad. He gave me an airy kiss on the forehead and whispered: “No, baby, you’ll be taking this one alone.” What? My vision blurred. My cheeks burned, hot and ready for tears. He closed the glass door and took my mother’s hand. She just nodded and turned away. The plane started rolling toward the runway. “Canberra is going to be so much fun!” Alvin said in his cheerful machine voice. My tears rained down onto my pink pants. _“You’re gonna love it, Gracie!”_ he added. The ground vanished beneath us. And we soared straight into the silver rain.