The wall of heat smacked me as soon as I left baggage claim to hail a cab. By the time I wrestled my suitcase into the trunk, the humidity had curled my hair. I gave the hostel address and leaned back into the cracked pleather, trying to relax. Trying to pretend I knew what to expect, bunking with a room full of tourists likely half my age.
I’d never been this far from home. And I’d never gone anywhere alone. But I knew it was time. I couldn’t take any more questions: “When will you…?” “Why don’t you…?” or the ever-so-helpful “Have you tried…?”
Because they were there, gathered around the Christmas ham while snow turned the dead grass white. Maybe my empty chair would be answer enough.
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