When I first returned through the portal from the other world, everything seemed warped and so far away, as if I were viewing it through a terribly long and thin tube with a foggy lens. Sounds were also peculiar, a certain hollowness to them I’d never experienced before.

I spent time in this ambiguous state for a lengthy time, eating meals my great-niece fed me from a spoon, hearing the dull echoes of voices that spoke in my ear but never grasping the meaning behind their words.

Over many months, I found my way back to reality through the landscape: examining the nuances among diverse types of trees, scaling the distant mountain ridges with my eyes, fashioning tiny boats that sailed into oblivion down the stream near my new home and charting it all. I enjoyed how everything fit together to form a tidy little picture. It also granted me a sense of control over my surroundings. If I could record landmarks and use them to guide me when I traveled, I’d never get lost again.

My voice took longer to reemerge, but again, I developed another valuable skill during this term of mutism, writing my thoughts on paper. Something that has earned me a bit of fame and I daresay to my chagrin, infamy. I strive to stick to the facts, and some people just don’t want to hear them.

As I became older, I realized my fondness for maps and composing the comprehensive ones I’m noted for, germinated from my time in the other world, where I was desperately lost with no manner of finding my path home.

That’s how I feel right now: I’m confused, Sen’s voice is warbled; I can’t process what she’s just told me. Then slowly, I recall Peter told me Sen’s mother was responsible for my disappearance and my mother’s eventual death. My mind snags and stumbles on this detail: why would Peter tell me that if it wasn’t true?