Allison Renner ƒ No Place Like Home

Allison Renner

No Place Like Home

Something in the way the crow carcass is splayed on the pavement brings to mind the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. I was seven when I first saw the movie at my grandmother’s house. I thought it was black and white because her TV was so old. I loved the land of Oz until the fear overtook me once I put myself to bed. That grandmother was not the one who hugged, tucked in, or consoled. I wanted my parents to come get me but they were at a casino in Wetumpka, Alabama, celebrating their anniversary with a Frank Sinatra impersonator. I pulled the starchy sheets over my head and willed myself to think about ruby slippers and a sharp tuxedo. I swerve around the crow and watch its body get smaller in my rearview mirror.