I live in a cramped blue trailer. A cracked mirror reflects sepia toned images. Up the hill in back we find solace in the hammock. Hiding away, playing make-believe. Acing spelling tests.
The trailer is bigger and brown, but now it is crowded. Keeping a watchful eye on three brothers strains my spirit. Being thirteen and uncool is the least of my concerns. Missouri tornados run rampant leaving a wake of destruction. Mom and Dad pack up the truck and we go further than I thought possible.
“Thanks for the pop.” “Don’t you mean soda?” Takes time, but we adjust into a sort of love. The Doctor showed me the power of books and language. My mom yells from the bottom step “Fill out your college applications.”
The safe path becomes skewed by visions of grandeur. A flyer in my mailbox beckons me to England. So begins the long hours of reading and analyzing books and not people. Their accents don’t keep me thrilled for long, but their land awakens an old destiny. Bachelor’s degree in hand, I venture deeper inland to Germany.
I bask in the languages of others, learning to rely more on body language. I am stuck behind a cash register feeling the weight of my degree on my back. The kids make me realize this hidden potential, but grandma needs me in Las Vegas. When she is gone, I clear off the dust from my path. I teach in an old, but adorable school.