Can I meet them?
Such a small question.
Such a brave one.
It opened a door that had been closed for ten years. Then another that had been closed for decades. Then another none of us even knew existed.
That summer, we went back to Ohio again.
This time, we did not stay in a motel.
We stayed in my old room, repainted pale green by my mother, with new curtains and a shelf Leo immediately filled with rocks, wires, and half-finished inventions.
One evening, my father and Leo hung the birdhouse they had finally completed from the maple tree in the front yard. It was crooked, bright red, and far too large for any reasonable bird.
“It’s more of a bird mansion,” I said.
Leo grinned. “Birds deserve options.”
My father laughed.
My mother stood beside me on the porch.
After a while, she said, “I used to think
