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drifted past the window. I felt as though I had been
sitting still for a long time, but was not uncomfortable.
Movement coming from in front of me coaxed my eyes
away from the glass; it was Emile's shining pate, turning
to look behind him. We made eye contact; he winked. I
smiled at him and looked back out the window.

There, suddenly, were the Juras mountains rising
around us.

It was as though someone had pried open my chest,
exposing me to the world, so that my twining arteries, my
expanding lungs, my young bones could see for
themselves. The cells of my blood stumbled over one
another in their haste, each bearing a tracing of the
mountains in front of me straight to my heart. The
mountains stood still, rough gray boulders and verdant
leaves awash with light, hushed and waiting, permitting
me to see and search, to climb each peak, explore each
crevice.

Though I didn't turn, I knew that Emile had
appeared beside me. I kept my eyes on the unfolded
mountains, and I felt him lean in, over the cascade of my
hair hanging over the back of the seat, turning his head so
that his mouth was near my ear. He placed a hand on my
shoulder: together, we looked down, over the edge of the
winding bridge we were on. Tucked into the valley below
us was a small, narrow shard of turquoise lake. On its
bank rested a single, small wooden house. I heard Nicolas'
sharp intake of breath at the sight; Emile squeezed my
shoulder. I looked back up to see the mountains standing
watch over the lake and the little pointed roof. I felt a
smooth, round, compact warmth coming to settle in the
recesses of my heart, as a skipping stone comes to rest at
the bottom of a lake. In that moment, I held a pebble,
and I held a mountain.

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