I still don’t know what actually sets of the moves. My scary, dangerous, violent father, who burned down our house (though they couldn’t prove it) and spent two years in prison for stalking when I was little. Mom told me this in ninth grade, after years of pretending she just liked moving. Once we’ve found a town that’s far enough out of the way, Mom starts looking for places we might be able to rent. Then we get off the interstate highway and start driving into the country, because our new town also has to be least twenty miles from the interstate. Often Mom goes farther, but it’s always at least 250 miles. When we move, the new town always has to be at least 250 miles from the last place we lived. We’re going to be on the road for a while, and it’s still dark out. I prop my pillow against the window, lean against it, and close my eyes. Two weeks-that’s not even long enough to have a transcript. I’m in the passenger seat, my laptop and tote bag of books next to my feet, my pillow in my lap. Within an hour, everything we own is loaded into Mom’s van. I can see how scared she is, and we’ve done this enough times that I know arguing won’t work, anyway. and says it’s time to get out of Thief River Falls. Opens in a new window Mom shakes me awake at 4:00 a.m.
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