Wind shuddered through the old moss grove. I watched the trees sway like memorials to times better lived, trapped in a past I wished to forget but can’t ever let go. I pulled my sweater tight. Some people are incapable of feeling cold in a place like Tallahassee. Me? I was always cold.
***
God, it was hot. I fished an ice cube from my tea, swiped it across my brow. I suppose I lived here once. I didn’t remember. Mother has a dozen stories for every second I lived in this place–I didn’t need to remember. I flicked the plastic menu and scanned the list without taking it in. Drumming my red lacquered nails against the table, I chewed my lip, battering my courage. I figured a few more mental slaps and I’d be ready. Ready for the swamp and gators and moss. I opened the menu. Lunch first. The immortal wrath of southern mothers second.
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