We etched our names into the wood
that held up the bed. It was a bunk bed.
It was a school trip. Pensarn. We were twelve.
When the sun went down, we all wrapped
hard-boiled eggs in paper and dropped
them out of a second-story window
to see whose would crack. Mine did.
I didn’t win. I never wanted to win.
Then we put on our Wellingtons
and made our way across a field.
It was darker than ever, and I forced my eyes
as wide open as they could go.
The ground was wet, and the mud
squidged beneath our feet.
I wore a big, padded Barbour
that my mother had bought for me,
but the icy wind still stung my bare cheeks.
The stars were brighter than I’d ever seen them,
and the moon was full and constant
in the night’s sky.
Walking, we came to a stile,
and after a little deliberation,
the teachers decided it’d be too dangerous
for us to climb in the dark.
So, we turned back.
Halfway back, Alexander told me he felt sick.
I told him he’d be fine
and carried on looking up at the stars.
When we got back to our dorm,
I climbed up into my bed
and poked holes into the wooden frame with a pen.
Each one a star. A tiny glimmer of light
from something bigger than I could ever know.
Bigger than anything I would ever become.
I closed my eyes.
Cheeks still chilly,
but getting warmer, warmer, warm…
In the morning, I climbed down from my bunk
and headed to the bathroom.
The toilet was full of paper and vomit
and wouldn’t flush.
I tried six times before the sight and smell
got the better of me.
I ended up going in Mr. Poland’s dorm instead.
He’d accidentally left a lighter on the sink.
I picked it up and sparked it.
I ran my fingers over the flame,
then put it back where I found it.
I was going to tell Alexander about it over breakfast,
but he was too sick to get out of bed.
So, I told another friend instead,
but he didn’t believe me.
Morning sun warmed my cheeks
as I poked at my scrambled eggs with a fork.
I thought of home.
I was homesick.
I was ready to go home.