According to the crumpled paper in my hand, my life will change in eighty-seven miles. The blue line on the map clearly delineates my destination. I've been practicing what to say for days, months...hell, years; almost all my life really. I have always loved the feel of cool air blowing on my face, but the air conditioner is sending a chill across my shoulders and down my spine. Is it really the air, or the coming words that brings the feeling of unease? First impressions as they say...
Twenty-three years is a long time to wait; I have to get it just right. In my mind I practice some more.
"Ronald Stansky? My name is Melinda Connors. Samantha Connors is my mother and I'm your daughter. Nice to meet you." OH crap that sucks. Eighty-six miles to go; keep practicing. What's the worst that could happen?
Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.