Late Replacement

By Nicole Itkin

What if someone took your place? How would they take over your world? Those were the two questions I had when I started this piece, questions I tried to answer.

Sweaty ski boots [empty ski boots], rock-torn sneakers [spotted skies], steam dried showers [fruitless smoothies], and carpet-lined [lazy beaches]. The road looms and twists, touching the horizon, layed out, splayed out. What if? What if the dirt had kept lying untouched? Or the trees had run from their shadows? What if the sky had told its rays to fade away? 
What if? 
What if—
I'd never stepped foot there? 
What if the plane seat had been filled? With a different baby. Better baby. Mouth-filled baby. Silent baby. Appreciative-of-what-I-took-for-granted baby. Silent baby. Better baby. Plane seat filled. What if? 

Process

I started with a prompt asking about the concept of replacement. I soon found myself drawn to a place of “what if?” and made that the staple of the piece. As I kept writing, I was also drawn to my memories of traveling and felt compelled to discuss the notion of replacement in that sphere of my life.