Castaway

She talked about her family in glimpses, like she was always walking a tightrope. Between normal and just chucking it all, for the next bus that might give her some hope. She tried to paint a picture of her town, pristine houses along a tree-lined strand. Faces peeking around window curtains, fathers in doorways with belts in their hand. When she ran out of brown, umber and black, she was embarrassed when a laugh slid out. She’d been taught that in midwestern values, unwed mothers had nothing to laugh about.