And she wondered if she went back to those southern queens, those powdered Geisha men, those dandy fops, if she would be welcomed back with open arms or looked at with disdain.

But could she really leave it? Could she once again wrench herself and her family out of something else? Just as they've put their clothes into drawers, is she going to put the folded up sweaters and jeans right back in the suitcase to chase a feeling? When feelings have been cultivated right here?

Is it simply because no plane has taken her to see her mother, father, sister in over a year? Do those bonds stretch and groan under the weight of 4,000 miles?

Last night her fitful dream left her standing with her son's hand in hers, nearing tarmac. Her husband had left her for someone ten years younger than she, twenty years younger than he. In her fury and sadness she took their son and demanded a new laptop to write about all of it. It wasn't a pretty picture. It wasn't a pleasant dream but she did remember feeling some excitement at moving back down south. She woke up feeling addled and decided then and there (for the twelfth time that week) no more. We stay. No more.