The Boarding List of Hours

The departures board reads Saturday to Monday, the times static numbers. I trace the outline of my house on the yellow drawing tacked near the clock. The pencil edges are soft. A high chime sounds, a music box melody I know. I sing the first verse, the melody climbing into the register of my own throat. The sound fills the main concourse, vibrating the dust motes above the polished tile floor. I pause, waiting for the next phrase, but the music continues, steady and clear, coming from my mouth, matching my breath. I turn down the corridor toward the ticket booth, my hand already reaching back. Something specific rests just beyond the edge of the next room.