It’s Saturday night and my friends are calling me so we can go get high or drunk. It’s the now day-to-day ritual we hold. We’re “grown up”. But it all feels lost, ridiculous. I don’t want to go out, I want to be at home. So yes, I’m going to spend my whole Saturday night watching Elvis movies with my mom, because we haven’t hung out in a long time. I owe her a lot, for so many things. But the one thing I owe her most for is things like this. When I was a little kid up late at night with a fever, she’d always put on an old film and we’d watch it together. She’d buy me Patsy Cline cds. She’d pick me out western shirts and old movie posters at antique stores. She’d take me barefoot to the park to catch frogs by the pond. She shaped me into the hopeless romantic I am today, and honestly I’m so happy for that. I often see life in black and white, stage lit glances between two people, a soft overture playing in the background. And I owe that to her. I also often see life as a settler on the open plains, tan skinned and happy eyed, ready for a hard day’s work. And I owe her for that. I get lonesome and listen to patsy and sigh at the train whistling by out my window. And I owe her for that. I get sentimental over everything, I’m a big cheese ball. And I owe her for that.