Wayfarers

Sylvie Brave

Out here alone, afraid of the two steps

that would take me out of my van and into

whatever landscape I’d once thought

would transform me into someone else. Do you know

about the dunes huddled against Lake Michigan

like bears bedding down for winter? I’d looked

them up on Google Images and thought about

how this looking would be different,

how it would be to stand here,

dog by my side, sand in my eyes, riot

of hair in the high July wind,

perfected. Like a girl from a story, not a girl

from Springfield, Illinois, town of strip malls,

Sally Beauty Supplies, no portals to Narnia

or anywhere else. I don’t know if I would’ve been brave

enough to leave on my own. I was a girl

who made straight A’s, flew under the radar, wing

to wing with the boy I loved, waiting.

Right after graduation, Cal and I would be gone.

And in the meantime we marked up our maps, got the travel

apps, studied TikToks about dumping black water

(don’t ask). I kept waiting for someone to tell us no

but no one did. My mom, my stepdad, Dr. O,

they all kept nodding. I was so responsible, had a budget,

backup plans B through Z, had my Northwestern acceptance letter

printed and stored in a waterproof sleeve, and if Cal

ever went off course, I’d correct. That’s what

they said. My mom, marveling: my Sylvie, off to see the world.

By May, we’d reached escape velocity. Or

I had. I had. Anymore I feel like

a paper plane in a rainstorm.