Vacaville, California – July 2005

The sun beats down.  The sun that withers.  The sun that decays.  The sun that kills.

In some places summer is about the day.  And in others it is about the night.  Vacaville summers are about the night.  But it is not a place bustling with nightlife.  The stores are not open late.  And in a land made for festivals that last until morning there are no such festivals.  Even still, it is about night all the same.  Because the sun traps men indoors.  And life slows down until night falls.

The truth is that I never ran from Vacaville.  It’s a small town and I was content with it.  And I could still be content with it.  But there is fear.

I crave my solitude, but it is not meant to be.  My plans change.  But there is time.  A sister in town.  Old friends and family.  An opportunity to catch up.  To find peace.  For it’s been a long time.  And life is different now.

There is still the puzzle in my head that I can’t get out.  The drink of apathy and freedom doesn’t mix well.  There are answers to be found.  And in the beginning I feared they wouldn’t come.  But even now I can feel my mind piecing things together.

And life goes on.  The new and the old.  Two cabins.  One a place of drunkenness.  One a place of solitude.  Five girls dance on the bar.  And there is snow in the mountains.  Two bartenders belt out lyrics to the songs that play.  And the river runs higher than normal.  “Another jack and coke please.” And the cold water runs over my head.

The sun goes down.  The sun that I remember.  The sun that I loved for the warm summer nights that it created.

And I go outside…

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