100 Steps
I wish you could come for a moment and see through my eyes, see all these images that run past the edges of language. I wish you could come with me for an hour, hear your own footsteps echoing down the stairwell, receding as you push open the heavy red door, falling silent as you step out into a different world. Today, you would see bright blue sky -- finally, after cold days of rain and heavy clouds that have sent children scampering to school under small umbrellas and thick hoods, clinging to their mothers' gloved hands. There's a school outside my window, a gradinita , or kindergarten, with white-rimmed windows. Pigeons often roost on the red-tiled roof or fly in patterns nearby, glinting grey-white when there's sun. A cement path leads up to the front door of all those years of education and cuts through a red fence that runs around the property's perimeter, separating the school from the apartment blocs. When I wake, I often go to my window and look out through the...