Write about: the papers.
The Canucks got off to a disappointing start this evening, dropping a 2-1 decision via a Calgary goal with 30 seconds left in the game. It was a pretty even game though, so hopefully the bounces go their way next game and they're able to even things up.
I put the second coat of paint on the bathroom this morning and it looks much better now. Still going to need one more, but then it'll be done.
And I shall celebrate with much merriment.
The farm house was covered with dust and littered with remnants of a life I'd long left behind. Spiders watched my every move. Every inch of the place smelled stale, uninhabited. And everything creaked: the front door, the floorboards, cupboards, dressers, chairs. Everything.
I didn't want to be there then. Hell, I probably never did. Not in a hundred years would I ever have expected to be back under that roof. When I left there was no looking behind me - I just dropped a match on every bridge I crossed and kept moving.
But this was important. Unexpected and important. Dad's last words had sent me back there as surely as if he'd thrown a potato sack over my head, tossed me in the trunk of his rusting Corolla, and driven me there himself.
A secret was hidden behind that crumbling facade, kept beyond prying eyes for the entirety of my life, and my brother's life as well. It was time for it to see the light. Past time, really.
One way or another, I had to find the adoption papers.