Trailing Rainbows

Bo and her dad celebrate Christmas in the Crescent City.

New Orleans has the most vibrant feel to it. It somehow seems that there is more life and more death there than anywhere I've ever experienced. It's like the people have experienced a deeper pain and a greater joy and they're somehow brave enough to share it, to exude it.

Bo writes a poem and a letter to Jasper. 

"I wanted to tell you, too, about the day we met. I wasn't in a good place. Of course, you already know that. You know about Mom, and the desperate grief, and the waves."

What if fever dreams are just portents of the future? What if the muted colors and repeating themes are just an effort on the part of your mind to imprint what's important? 

Or are dreams just memories of things that never happened?

Question of the epside: Is it more respectful to remember people as they were after they're gone or to remember the good things about them?  

You left me with the ability to love and be loved, and I'll be forever grateful. And if none of them get to know you, I'll make sure you're remembered somehow. Not because you're dead, but because you lived. Because you shone with the light of a star, because I revolved around you like the solar system you absolutely deserved.

Bo calls a therapist, deciding it's her responsibility to work through her trauma. Her dad makes plans to join her in New Orleans. 

Taking a detour in her trip, Bo is given the opportunity to help Hank and his mother find a safe place. Meanwhile, her dad plans to join her for a brief visit somewhere down the road. 

After a terrifying nighttime fire, Bo finds herself in the place she least wants to be, surrounded by the sterile environment of a hospital, caring for a child. Gathering all her courage, Bo must give strength to others when her own is waning.