Fast Forward-A

Like a slow-moving westbound wagon train in 1887, filled with brave souls departing a land of nightmares; or like a 13-year-old in no-man's-land looking at 18 and wishing he could push a button capable of fast-forwarding at least 5 years; Or like a lazy and lonely Sunday afternoon without scenes or sounds. Yes, it felt like the sands of time in the hourglass were made of snails. It was a time and place never loved by me, but it was where my story began. It was the blessed home of the privileged few and the very rich. It was the unfortunate abode of the underprivileged and the very poor. It was a piece of American geography that never felt like home to me. My best dream was that time would grow wings faster and fly me away. My primary goal was to depart, not be from there, and never return.