“Wave goodbye to the house, Two.” Mom orders me. “You may never see it again.”
“Why’s that?” I ask. We are all hunched in the front seat of my dad’s giant GMC King Cab on the way out of Folsom toward the airport where we will begin a seven day family vacation in Nashville, leading up to my move in to the dorms.
“Because,” she sings. “Who knows? What if you get killed or decide never to come home?” Mom wrinkles her face. She's not kidding.
Every once in a while, Mom starts purposely, or maybe not consciously slurring her words and she sounds like a little girl with a speech impediment. So right now, as she says the word “home,” it sort of sounds like a drunk version of Little Orphan Annie. It usually happens right before long crying spells or big whoops of laughter. You just never know what’s going to happen. It reminds me of the hot weather before an earthquake.
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