Lost Journals

The town hadn't changed much, it just seemed older and sadder. Lay-offs at the factory put many residents out of work, lowering the tax base; therefore, injecting holiday cheer with an overdose of Valium. The baby boomers were dropping dead from a particularly virulent strain of the flu.

Peri stepped from the Nissan onto the cracked asphalt. Behind her amber lenses her eyes stung from exhaustion and too many cigarettes. Crisp, humid air tickled the skin not covered by an oversized pea coat.

Peri stood staring at her mother's house. The agoraphobia had apparently gotten worse in the year since she'd last been in Iowa. This was the first year without Christmas lights hung from every eave.

She walked up the driveway to the back of the house and entered through the garage.

"Mom?" she called dropping her small suitcase in the kitchen. Movement could be heard from upstairs. Peri climbed the creaky stairs. Although she hadn't lived in the house for ten years, nothing had changed in her room since she was seventeen, including a half-packed box of vinyl.

Peri had ridden a ribbon of concrete cutting through Nebraska and Iowa to arrive at this obscure destination. Most people fled Newton on vacation, yet she'd sat behind the wheel for 14 hours to face the town that had nearly caused her ruination.