we only listen to god-fearing music in this house (an excerpt)

My parents kissed my head. Who knew that’d be the last time. Or maybe it isn’t yet the last time, but it feels like it. They were weary of me doing this, but the hills! The hills. To paint them has been my dream. I’d play my music and let the breeze hug me and let the grass be squashed under my toes. One day, I hoped to live by the hills. I couldn’t sit still the whole flight. The excitement made me twitch. I’m pretty sure the woman next to me was uncomfortable but I will not apologize for anything. Especially not for being happy.

I couldn’t see much from the plane. The clouds and water and crop land weren’t new or exciting in any way. It looked just like the clouds and water and crop land from back home. Somewhere along the way, I fell asleep. A whole day’s journey to the map’s boot wore me out. Indiana to Italy. Farm to village. Domestic land to foreign land. The only thing foreign here is me. 

-Iowa 8/27/03

Mom and Dad,

You would like him. This isn’t the ideal meeting situation and I know you’d want me to rethink this, but I will ignore that. I will, but only because I know that you would really like him.

-Iowa 11/09/03