I’m still again trying to figure something, anything, out.
The Empire State Building! Why didn’t I think of that before? But why can’t I see it? Here in the middle of the forest of buildings and I can’t find the tallest of them all?
And suddenly I have the best idea I’ve had all day. “I’ll climb a tree,” is what I try to say but instead what comes out is something garbled. My mouth feels like it is full of socks.
Just like that, as though by magic, I’m teleported to the top of the trees. It is there that I realize that I’m not in a forest, or a field but in the middle of Central Park. On the horizon I find the illuminated building I’m looking for silhouetted against the black of night.
The wind picks up, plucks me out of the tree and plops me down on the observation deck of the Empire State Building. The wind is so loud; I can’t hear myself think. Father is there. He’s trying to tell me something again. I can’t hear over the sound of my own screaming.