…hers and her old friends — one who had new glasses, the other who had grown at least a few inches — she wanted to crawl back inside the strange cocoon of our family that we’ve been ungracefully weaving these five months of sheltering in. It’s claustrophobic in there. It’s filled with the groans of her sister, who is so sick of her breaking her Legos, and the frustration of her father — why must she always go up the carpeted stairs with her filthy feet? It’s lonely sometimes. It’s boring sometimes. But it’s hers. It’s ours.
