I've been called a lot of names in my twenty-nine years of living. Daughter, friend, enemy, brat, girlfriend, partner, confidante, compadre, liar, genius, cynic, liberal, goddess, and, of course, the oldie but goodie (and still quite effective): boy, you're a stubborn pain-in-the-ass.
It was a decade and a half later when I found myself in desperate need of my regular chair in my grandma's kitchen. But I was eight states away from Texas, so instead of taking a seat and resting my head on the cool countertop, I did a lot of aimless walking in search of a comfort I could not yet name.
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