December 1998. A small Christmas tree lot in the parking lot of a closed Kmart on Miller Road, on the outskirts of a town called Eastridge. Luna was eleven. She went with her father to pick out a tree. The man running the lot was old, with a crooked smile and hands that shook when he tied the twine. He told her father the best ones were in the back. Luna wandered past the rows of spruces and found a single tree standing apart, its needles black, its branches perfectly still in the wind. A small metal tag hung from a lower limb, stamped with a number and a date. The man appeared behind her and said, 'That one's not for sale.' He didn't explain why. Her father bought a different tree. That night, Luna dreamed of the black tree. In the dream, she touched the tag and the date changed. She's never forgotten that lot, or the way the man watched her leave. She looked for it again years later, but the lot was gone. The Kmart was still closed. A new strip mall stood in its place. She still thinks about the tag: 12-25-1988. Ten years before she was even born.

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