How the West was Won

September 29, 1998

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It all comes back riding on the crest of a wave. A reoccurring tidal wave. Fresh as memories made only seconds ago. Where was I from between then and now? So much was lost and so little was hung onto. I am putting as much back as possible. In my closet sits an oblong shoebox that will be overflowing with green paper by this time next year, before this time next year. That shoebox is my ticket out of here. Now is the time to be smart and preserve all extra earnings. A sign was given to me about six months ago but the words written were foreign. The next few weeks were spent trying to learn a new language. My instructor was harsh, but at the end of each semester we thank them for steering us in the right direction. The sign was transformed into a familiar tongue. Symbols became letters and words formed sentences. I now understand what tasks need to be done, and although I might still be in training, I am nearer to the end than I am the beginning. My heart lies deep in the west where acres of freedom await.

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist