almost.

Highway 285.

Left turn lane to home. "los vaqueros" says the stucco sign in dark letters shadowed by winter's rust.

Today was one of those days. Those days when it took everything in me to flick on the blinker. Today I didn't want to stop. I wanted to look back from the top of Lamy hill and then get back in the car toward nowhere. Patty Griffin would sing me stories in the shaky speakers and the windows would stay down. I would watch the sun disappear from somewhere I've never been before. Today I needed to go. Far away. In that windy car.

My heart needed to wander. My head insisted on thinking.
I turned on the blinker.

I went home.

Home.
Hello stucco sign.
Hello jackrabbit.

Hello house. Hello mom. Hi sis.
Hello book. Hello pillow.


I'll feel alone in a book. Yeah. I'll read a book.

I feel a skinny shoulder rested against me.
"It's so good you're home. I have to look at this bed without you in it everyday and everyday it makes me sad. I don't want you to go again. Mom and dad say it's good that you're there but I don't get it. You say you miss home. And I miss you. So you should just stay."

Mo,
I'm not a fraction of the sister you deserve.
and I don't have answers.

I don't know why.

And no, I'm not surprised you're the only girl invited to that birthday party tomorrow. It's cause you're awesome. Even boys see it.



Home.

Huh.



This strange neighborhood. Barns and slippery dirt roads. This pretty house. Russian sage and silver rocks.
These pretty people.

Huh.