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I live near the airport, and everyday low flying planes enter and exit my life unnoticed.

Today over my favorite part of the Nutcracker Suite, I heard the news tell me my new country had attacked my old one.

I left the tiny room and sat in my half empty closet. I thought of my grandmother. She once told me wearing red panties brought nightly visits from our dead loved ones. I’ve worn red panties every day and night since my father died. Now, I will wear two.

I will go up to New York City not Walmart to buy my new red mourning under dressing. I will cry in the fitting room under bright lights and security camera scrutiny.

Now, I sit staring at the light’s line tracing the closet door’s edges until it blurs.

Then, I hear the muffled sonic boom.