We drove up the mountain to get home. Our copper colored 1975 Pontiac Phoenix winding its way up to the top where the Army base sat. Rounding the curves, looking across at the remnant of the stone castle on a neighboring hill, I stared from my window at the mountain and the small, Bavarian town below. It’s timbered Baltic brick buildings and smoothly worn cobblestone streets, flanked by the two rivers that converge there. This car had no air. In the summer heat my legs stuck to the leather seat. The seam of the brown leather seat served as a dividing line and my little brother, Devin had only the small space in the middle. Every few minutes he invaded my space and I shoved him over. My sister, on the other side, shoved him back.

“A quick glance around ensures little movement amongst the night, though her dark eyes followed me. Rather than stare back, I place the mouthpiece of the vape to my lips and breathe in deeply, filling my core fully, then my chest and finally my head. I hold it in until my vision starts to tremble; gently vibrating within, I let it go. It pushed out from my depths with outlandish trajectory and filled the space around me. I am the dragon.”

“Step 1: Pick a recipe. When you flip through your Great-Great Grammy’s lard-stained recipe cards, you will be pleased to remember that you are not bound by climate in the way she was. Gone are the days when the sticky peach cobblers could only drip down sunscreened toddlers in the summer and apple strudels could only warm grandpa’s chilled belly in the autumn breeze. The crowning achievement of the modern age is not the smart phone or artificial intelligence, but an all-American reliance on produce importation (“Imports Contribute to Year-Round Fresh Fruit Availability”). Settling on a recipe card, you smile: the best time to make a deliciously seasonal fruit tart, you think to yourself, is when you yearn for fresher days.”

You breathe in the smell of unused fabric and all the unrealized potential that you have at hand. It’s just like everything else you’ve gotten into—a tool to keep your mind busy. A way to keep yourself from overthinking. The sound of the needle popping in and out of the fabric brings you back to the present—the reason you are up at three in the morning.  You imagine the bag you are creating will bring someone joy. Why keep creating something no one will want? What if you can’t fix your mistakes? You want to close your eyes, but you can’t. You have to pay attention to the task at hand.