I am from the churning muddy river, from Rosie’s Pizza delivered in paper bags, and eating jello popcorn until my stomach hurt; I am from a mixed bag small town across from a wanna be big town and never feeling part of either. I am from walking everywhere, and driving to the middle of nowhere. I am from the wrong end of town, and Lewis and Clark's view from the bluff.

I am from a tan ranch home with a peach living room I couldn’t sit in, a corner butterfly bedroom with a four-poster twin bed, and a dark hallway that bad guys lingered in; I am from taking shoes off at the door, having one tiny bathroom, and a metal swingset that rocked if we swung to hard.

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