When I was small, I used to sit on the second to top-most stair, well after we had been put to bed, after my sister was asleep. My body fit on the stair like it was a shelf made for me, and I would lay on my side and peer into the sliver of light where the rail stopped and the upstairs wall began. I would watch the shadows of my parents moving and listen to their conversations, or the TV when they were silent. I did this so much that I had a recurring dream about it, where I would fall asleep on the stair and fall, rolling down until I hit one that was false and fell through it into a blue pool. I always woke when I hit the pool, jolting on my bed like I had been shocked.

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