LIFTOFF There was no fear.
When I was alive, I dreamed of flying.
Or maybe I should say: When I was alive, I dreamed. Sometimes it was flying; more often it was falling. Or burning—trying to scream, trying to run, but frozen and silent and consumed by flames. I dreamed of being alone. Of my face melting or my teeth falling out.
I dreamed of Walker, his body tangled up in mine. Sometimes I dreamed I was
Walker, that my hands were his hands, my fingers the ones massaging soft, smooth skin, getting caught in long strands of blond hair. Awake, people talk about becoming one—but in...