She was thinking really hard about some happy stories she could put in there. They're all in travel journals, to do with flying along on a khmer kid's motorbike or changing plans or ashrams or making friends on the road. About school and the bizarre and beautiful and innocent lifelong bonds little girls make. Or about men and falling in love, but are those not just drug stories by another name. Or about a day she heard she had a job or was leaving or an adventure had come through or about a surprise party. The euphoria high of swimming 2 ks in a salt water pool on a sunny day. About a heated academic debate that left her head full of new matter to percolate, a smile with a stranger in an elevator.
Most of all about silent moments between her and her mum. They had a strange closeness you couldn't define. Or the moment a friend took her hand unexpectedly or an airport greeting or goodbye. The day someone told her the truth she had known for a long time. The first time he said he loved her, the first time any of them said "I love you".
The moments which don't exactly make for riveting stories. The experiences and qualities that made her happy were freedom, love, affection, loyalty, protectiveness, pride, admiration, playfulness. Most of all freedom. We could go Caity. We could just go and be free, tomorrow. The dynamics of everything have changed. You signed up for this Caity, you see it through. That's what you believe in, so live it.
