My Cardboard Balcony

Tonight, more than any other time since I first saw the results of the presidential election, I seriously considered leaving the United States. I contemplated going somewhere else - anywhere else. Maybe it'd be an adventure. Maybe it'd involve backpacking. Absolutely, it would include storytelling. But with just an Irish song in my head and a pain in my gut dictating my brain at that moment, I was more than half-tempted to call up a friend, tell him to pack his bags, and have him join me and my wife (were I able to convince her to accompany me) on the next flight out. I talked about how I felt with my wife when she came home from a performance. It was an emotional conversation: We both agreed that we fight a mental tug-of-war between being adventurous and being homebodies, and we both want a place to return to after traveling. My wife does not like traveling for prolonged periods of time, but I could feel my throat tighten when she told me that if I felt like I had to go some

Beyond Limits by Belinda Roddie If I left this world, would you come with me?

Barry played piano, and Trisha trilled on the flute. Their parents danced together as their duet progressed, from bouncy to somber, to nebulous and then back to bouncy. I sat in the corner of the living room, watching the choreography and listening to the melodies and harmonies, sipping a glass of whiskey that was older than I was. When the piece was done, I politely applauded, and all four members of the Wright family bowed.