It was one of those sticky afternoons where the air feels like it's been soaked in sweat and the sun’s just a big, tired eye staring down at you. My mother and I were sprawled out in the living room, her voice droning on about some vague future trip. She was painting a picture of a strawberry field in a valley somewhere, her eyes lighting up like she’d just stumbled upon a forgotten dream.

I wasn’t really listening. I was too busy trying to anchor myself to the present, to the confines of that little room, while my mind wandered off into...