I'll never forget that day. Yaya wore a blue dress printed in yellow flowers, a silk ribbon in her hair. Her eightieth birthday was only three days away, and we were all taking a trip to celebrate. Her face was rosier, her eyes light. Mama had said Yaya wanted to visit her home, to which I'd stated that our home was Yaya's home.

Yaya smiled when I said that. "Yes. This is my home, but when I was little, I had another home, and I want you to see it."

I'd only been eight at the time and had never been on a trip. The airport was busy, people waiting, people running, people chatting. A man's voice echoed over an intercom, announcing flights and calling out unclaimed baggage. The smell of coffee mingled with french fries and Yaya's catalogue perfume.

Then, the planes. We watched them take off from the window, and my stomach seemed to take off with them. What if we crashed? What if a storm happened? I didn't want to go, but Yaya's excitement kept my lips pressed together. Everyone else was excited to leave, and I knew Mama wouldn't let me stay behind. So, I said nothing, throat tight and eyes burning, as we boarded our flight.

Yaya gave me the seat next to the window and sat beside me. "In Czechoslovakia, there are many mountains a young girl can climb, and atop these mountains, it feels as if you can see the entire world."

I nodded, too busy watching the ground steadily grow further away with wide, panicked eyes.

"What's the matter?" Yaya turned my face to her. "Sweet girl. You're trembling." She pulled me into her side, resting my head against her chest as she rocked.

"Yaya?" My voice croaked.

"Yes?"

"Will we crash?"

She pulled back then, looked at me with the soft understanding only Yaya could achieve, and shook her head. "It is scary, isn't it? Flying for the first time?"

I nodded.

Her voice quieted. "When I was a girl, I had to get on a plane too. I had to leave my home, all alone, and go somewhere very far away where no one understood my language."

"You did?" My fear faded as my attention centered. "Why did you do that?"

"My home wasn't safe anymore, and my parents, and many other parents, sent their children away someplace better. I was very, very scared." She opened her purse and pulled out a pack of gum, offering me a piece as she took one for herself. "Do you know what I did?"

I shook my head as I popped the piece in my mouth and chewed.

She grinned. "I imagined the plane was a big metal bird, with wings that could blow away troubles. Our plane didn't have windows, so I imagined one of those too. And through that window, I watched the world below, and because I used my imagination, it could look however I wanted it to. Cakes the size of buildings and flowers the height of trees. Musical notes migrated like birds across the sky, and everyone I'd left behind stood on the ground below, protected by the beauty, happy and smiling and waving up as I passed them by."

I listened intently as the image she painted danced through my mind. "What else did you see?"

She laughed and leaned closer as if telling me a secret. "I saw horses in suits and cows wearing dresses. I saw a fat pig blow a kiss to a purple goose and a cat made of yarn."

I giggled. "That's silly, Yaya."

She scoffed. "It is not silly. It is true. I saw all these things, and so can you. Here, just try." She nudged my face toward the window. "What do you see?"

I scrunched my nose, narrowed my eyes. "I see clouds."

"No, no, no. Look with the eyes you see your dreams with, beruško."

I looked again, harder.

"See what you'd wish to see," Yaya whispered.

I imagined it. "A giant turtle...made out of glitter...with polka-dotted wings...wearing a baseball cap!"

"I see it, too!" She pointed. "And look! There is another! They are everywhere, beruško!"

"And fish, too! Don't forget the fish."

"Where are these fish? What do they look like?"

"They're made of gold! Can't you see?"

"Ah, yes! I do see." She kissed my head and hugged me close. "You see that? You are not afraid anymore." Her fingers trailed my hair as her gaze grew distant, seeing whatever it was her dreams were made of. "You need never be afraid." Her voice quieted, wistful. "Especially of flying. You can always fly, my dear, sweet girl. Even when it feels as if you have fallen."

I replay that conversation, word for word, every time I fly. Yaya passed away not a year after that trip, and it wasn't until I was much older than I learned the extent of just how hard it had been for her as a child. She'd escaped Czechoslovakia on one of the last Kindertransport planes to Britain in 1939. She'd been ten years old, orphaned, and a long way from home.

My great-grandparents didn't survive the war, and the trip we'd taken was the first and last time Yaya ever returned to Czechoslovakia.

Whenever I travel, I always make sure to request a seat beside the window, so that I can see Yaya, flying between the clouds, free and happy in the world only her and I could see.