I stared out the window and watched the freshly-manured field pass by. Erica sat next to me, sleeping, her head on my shoulder, her mouth open. I caressed her arm and thought back to what Mrs. English, our history teacher, had said on the first day of school. She asked us where we wanted to be in five years. If she’d asked me when I was twelve, I wouldn’t have said, “On a bus, with my best friend, running away to New Mexico.”Read the complete story.
Friday, April 16, 2010
This story is in the current issue of Wild Violet. Here's the opening paragraph.