That morning, after Father left for the ground, Jessica perched on her window sill, legs lying on a cloud, eyes staring at the sky, and decided that it was not blue. If, Father forbid, the sky was blue, it was surely not only one shade of it. Father never left the sky just blue; it was swirls of aquamarine, dashes of cobalt, splatters of navy and azure with tendrils of sapphire and indigo seeping in. It contained many colors, cool greens when Father was pleased, thunderstorm grays when He was not.

When Father returned home from His daily visit to the ground, Jessica tore her eyes away, swallowed the flakes of ice in her mouth and approached Him, lips spread into a smile, arms outstretched for a hug. However, this time Father brought her no gifts. He was not smiling and outside the glass house the stars flickered.

Your parents are waiting for you, Daughter.
Indescribable terror rose up in her, along with tears, and bile. Father hugged her tightly to His body and wiped her tears away with burning hot fingers.

“How is she?”

“Stabilizing. Doing surprisingly well. She’s making a big comeback.”

“It’s okay, honey. She’ll be just fine.”

Jessica remembered living on the ground, and sometimes during winter months like these, when she was bored because all of her birds had flown south to follow the sun, she would stretch out her head out her window, push away clouds and listen to the children playing games on the ground. They were very funny games, she supposed, because the children were always laughing.

Jessica’s earth parents had never played with her, and perhaps that was why she would always run away from them. She didn’t like the sound their voices made, shaking walls, breaking glass, finding her cocooned in her blankets, twisting through the sheets, burrowing into her ears. Jessica liked Father’s voice. His voice was never raised. It never turned dark and harsh. It was warm. It was soft.

If Father really loved her He wouldn’t make her wake up! Why did He have to make her go back? He had never done that before!
Father had gone down to the ground every day, and every time He asked Jessica if she wanted to come with Him, just for a visit, he’d insist, noting her expression. But Jessica always had an excuse, the robin needed her feathers brushed, the clouds needed a little bit more dusting, or her flowers needed to be watered a little bit more because it was summer and they were thirsty.

Every time she made an excuse Father shook his grizzly head, sparkled the stars and laughed so that the glass house in the sky vibrated. Father had told her that she would eventually have to wake up and go back down to her earth parents. Jessica did not like that idea, and Father didn’t seem to want her to leave either, so she remained in the sky, listening to children laugh, dreaming of the games they were playing.

“Wake up, Jessica,” she heard a voice break through her thoughts; it was so unlike Father’s, so much harsher and ruined that she cringed away.
“Is she awake?” another voice asked.
I will not wake up, she swore.
My Daughter.
Father’s voice opened her eyes, removing the blankets of memories that she had used so that words could not reach her. Father reached out a hand and she clutched it as if that was the only thing keeping her in the glass castle. He didn’t say anything. Just squeezed her hand and sat down on her window sill, pulling her close to His chest and rocking her slowly.

Sometimes she’d sit on the edge of this window, her feet dangling thousands of miles from the ground, and she’d close her eyes and pretend that she was surrounded by the laughing earth kids and that they were all her friends. Father once caught her laughing to herself, and He gathered her into His arms, like He did now, and asked her if she wanted to go back home. She had cried harder, and kept crying until Father promised that He would bring her gifts from his daily visits to the ground.

And He did. He brought her many things, little boxes that connected to her ears and shook her head with sound, chocolates with fruit inside, big greasy patties with a slice of meat between (why would a person ever want such a thing she had no idea). He brought her anything that she could ever dream of, but her favorite gifts were always the flowers.

Real flowers do not grow in the sky, so Father brought her flowers that felt stiff and hard, and had no scent besides that of human hands and plastic. She imagined that they were real. She created long extensive scientific names for them, constructed elaborate descriptions of their habitats, their medicinal uses.

“We have a heartbeat!” a voice broke through her thoughts.

Daughter, you must return home. Your parents are waiting for your return.

Jessica was not going to go back to the earth.

“I’m scared.” She buried her head into Father’s chest and clutched at him until her hands turned pale with blood loss.

Father placed his hand on Jessica’s forehead and Jessica saw: Lights like a necklace of stars twinkling on the walls. Music spilling into crowded rooms. Velvet, lace, satin dresses swirling in the air like clouds. A woman dressed in sunlight gold spinning in the hands of a man with eyes the color of ice crystals. Flowers braided into her hair. And she is laughing, laughing, laughing.

There is such thing as Heaven on earth, daughter. That will be yours. You must find it.
Jessica had always wanted to laugh.


Go.

Voices splintered her thoughts. Her body turned pale and incorporeal in Father’s arms, her hands loss hold on him, the warmth of his body faded away. But laughter, Jessica could still hear laughter.

Go find it.