Two more miles and we’ll there. Home, where everything is happiness and rainbows. I always pull the car over at this spot, the crest before the grass-covered valley, with tall hills rising on every side, and a small river bending this way and that. In the distance I can see the cabin, and the smoke coming from the chimney and the few lights from the windows. It was such a beautiful view, especially with a full moon out. Watching this view gave me time to contemplate, to prepare myself for the fun ahead. Uncle George would be there with his wife, mom and step-dad and all of my siblings. I hope they brought the good toys. The ones they brought last time were awkward at first, and then plain annoying. I still remember the gash in the head I got when pulling that tooth. It happened so fast there was no time to react. Of course mom made a fuss. My brothers just laughed, while my sister looked a little embarrassed. She was the one who brought the “new fangled way to pull teeth”, as she called it. Most of them broke, so no necklace that year. Phil, the elder brother, simply said “forget that, you lose a turn” and started slicing off strips of meat for the stew. Good stew. Almost as good as the screams. The knocking in the trunk broke me out of my revery. I opened it to a pair of pleading eyes. It was my turn to provide the entertainment, and she was a pretty one. Her shoe had a broken heel and had fallen off from where she tried to kick the trunk open. I knew the ropes weren’t biting into her skin, so as to keep her unmarked and fresh. So I told her to be quiet. Two more miles and we’ll be there.
Arid Testimony 