Sunday, January 18, 2015
Walking through my neighborhood before my mom awoke, my brain momentarily flashed to sneaking out of the house as a teenager. Waiting for the moment around 1:00 a.m. when the rattle of a train masked my footsteps and the click of the closing door. The memory sparked a millisecond of adrenaline. The worries then of being caught, of whether I would actually make it to college, did my boyfriend really love me, would my back ever stop hurting, how soon could I possibly get out of my small town, and how would I explain all those mosquito bites? Now the worries circle around my mother. Will she spill hot coffee on herself if she wakes up before I get back? Did I remember to lock up the booze? What the hell, why is my neck hurting? Did I sleep crooked or are my vertebrae dissolving because I'm going to have arthritis just like my mother? Where are all the herons?