The Bash

The dirt obscured the view in the rearview as we flew down the gravel road. Stevie crooned through the speakers about love and choices and change. She sang and I couldn’t help but think she was singing to me, to us, to now. All we talked about were the old times, growing up, mistakes we made and wished we hadn’t, mistakes we hadn’t made and wished we had.
Neither of us knew what we wanted, neither of us knew where to go or what to do. We were stuck, and the truth was, we probably always would be. We’d never take the leaps that are necessary for change. With matters of life you had to run before you could walk.
Our tiny town had changed around us, the gossip didn’t involve us, our friends grew tired of weekend get togethers and became more comfortable spending their nights at home. Our younger siblings had taken over the tabloids and the weekend plans. I had thought Wabash had changed, but I realised, places don’t change – people do.
I believe that was the last straw. I was ready to go home, a home I had made for myself.
And so I left.


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