“It’s called an Airplane Bungalow,” explained my sister Mary Alice, as she led me up the dark wood stairs. She had been living in her new East Dallas home for at least a year but it was my first time visiting. On the second floor, there were two bedrooms surrounded by windows, calling to mind the cockpit of an airplane. As I set my bags on the floor of my niece’s teenage lair and took in the all-around views, I got the idea.
It was well past sunset when I arrived, the sky inky-purple, but the following day, the airplane design shined through, leaving the upper rooms drenched in sunlight, despite the black tapestry that my niece plastered over several of the windows (you know, teens).
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