drove me the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five
degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I wearing my
favorite shirt- sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell
gesture. My carry-on item a parka.
Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town Forks
exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains this inconsequential
twon more any other place I the United States of America. It was this
town and it gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was
a few months old. It was in this town that I�d compelled to spend a
month summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my
foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in
California two weeks instead.
It was to
Forks I now exiled myself-- and action that I took with great horror. I
Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous,
From Twilight by