Days that should have been filled with mediocrity never were-and honestly, I think I liked it that way. I didn't know any other way.
Aunt Cassie let us do things none of the other adults did. Probably because she was busy smoking pot all day and grieving the loss of her beloved.
Regardless, my comrades and I slept in sleeping bags in the back of her station wagon. We never had to check in from morning until the streetlights came on at night. We caught frogs. We had impromptu Halloween parties. In a way, my life was magical.
One day, and now, I can laugh at it, Aunt Cassie picked me up from school with my mattress strapped to the top of the car and asked me where my 13-year old self would like to live. She didn't have any money so she had to move in with my grandma (they didn't have room for me).
So I said, "Lucy." Just as casually as I would answer "Fries," if you asked me what I wanted at McDonald's. I was used to this shit by now. Lucy was my friend at school and apparently her mother had no problem with my mattress being dropped off at their house, because I never heard a word about it.
So, there I was at Lucy's without ever having said goodbye to my trailer park family. "People come, people go, " my mother would always say, so I never got my panties in a bunch.
That was the second time it was engrained in to me that people were transient. They came, they went. And this time, it was time for me to go.
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