I’m sorry – I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Torii Jane. My friends call me Jane. I can’t tell you when America adopted the family name first practice like the Japanese do. Somewhen with all the computer files and doctor’s offices it seemed more sensible. We were sorted by family name first anyway. Somebody decided it would just be easier to make it all the same.

Torii? Yeah. That sounds Japanese too. It is. My family name means gate, but it isn’t like a gate anybody uses anymore. It’s a gate without a lock. It’s a simple thing really. It doesn’t keep anybody out. It just lets people know they’ve arrived.

Turns out the Inuit had something similar, in their inuksuit. They made stone structures to point the way. My name’s kind of like that. My family was full of people like that, people who knew where the line was between “here” and “there,” and how to get “there” in a really good way.

I sure miss them.

I started selling survival kits door to door to try to find people who saw things like me, but I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t know that was why I felt so different. I didn’t know that was why I’d fallen out with so many friends. I was becoming invisible.

Maybe this is why they’ve not sent a search party for me. I’m not missed. I’ve spent so long moving away from them and their drama and their parties that they don’t even notice I’m gone.

Maybe here I can find a new home for myself.

What am I thinking? I’ve got an apartment back home. I’ve got bills to pay. I’ve got a Book of the Month club membership. I can’t just give all of that up. How will I survive?

All right. Get a hold of yourself, Jane. You’ve survived this long without those things. You sell survival gear, remember? You’ve lived on your own for what, twenty years?

Good Lord. Now I’m talking to myself.