Can I Hit the Road with You?

Dear Georgia and Willa,

I wish I knew whether to speak or stay still. Whether in your mind, it is prudent to stand or sit, fold my hands or not, allow spacious pauses in our conversation, perhaps a gentle hug, but without heads touching. The touch of my forehead against yours would remind me of the scrumptious way Dolly wiggled herself warm into my space. She put my hair in rags, and Blue's in later years, and AJ's. That same touch would remind Georgia of our father's quiet fingers, twirling his hair sullenly as he watched TV. To Willa? The touch brings desolate landscapes from which we must all turn. And walk away.

I have screamed until I am hoarse I have fallen skinning my knees on the pavement and my snotty nose and blood runs down my legs and my dirty underpants are grass-stained and mud is packed and cold on my bottom as I plop my sorry self down sobbing catching my breath worn out. It really doesn't matter anymore.

"Can I come with you?! Keepers of the secrets of life. Sisters. Can you take me with you?"