"Where ya gonna go?" I asked, kicking the dirt. It flew up just to cover my shoes.
"Don'tno," without her eyes leaving forward.
Then she was silent for awhile, long enough that I looked down the road, hoping it was something she was watching. I could tell when she was anxious, she searched for words under each tooth. Maybe they would be hiding under bad cavities or spring from under her tongue. Her eyes moved to my feet. There weren't any goodbye words I was keeping under them, though. I was staying right here.
I hadn't the looks to travel. Stringy, sandy, hair was about as exotic as the BubbleYum I had a tendency to get caught in it. I was what my mother called a "Idaho beauty" and I didn't think Idaho beauty translated well outside the state.
"Well I'm gonna go." And her orange red hair, which I once thought was very beautiful, but now isn't much more than Revlon53, skirted along the open window. Songs about open roads were already playing, and I was tinged with a bit of jealousy.
Off the curb, I turned back to inside. I opened the screen door, scared the cat under the couch, and went to the fridge. Before I could open it, I saw her small leather purse sitting on the counter. The long strap coiled on top of it. I gathered it to bring up to her room.
Though, when I heard her music coming back down the road, I reopened the screen and placed it on the step. She was never going that far away.