State Route 208

by April Salzano

Stalactite ceilings. Orange shag
carpet. Plastic runners on
the steps. A split
entry. A patio door, but no patio. The blue
room was uneventful, shared
between my younger sister and me. The green
held my sleepwalking brother
who traveled all night. At four,
he didn’t get it, the sense of danger
of wandering across enemy lines
and into my parents’ room
in the basement, a dungeon complete
with sleeping dragon. The red
room stunk because my older sister pissed
the bed. She knew something
of fear. We rented a year. Played
in the mazes of corn and tried to
pretend we had horses. We rode them
all day, challenging them to fly us elsewhere.