by Amy Miles
~ B
I turn the paper over in my hands, sure that there must be something more to the note, but there isn’t. Each scribbled word is tiny enough just to fit on the small space. There’s no room for anything more eloquent, even if that were Bastien’s style.
I release a bitter laugh and sink down onto the bench. “What did I expect? A personal escort back to the woods?”
My words spurn an intense yearning for home. I gather the neck of the burlap sack and toss the bag over my shoulder. It would’ve been heavy on the best of days, and today has by far been my worst.
I leap down from the subway car and carefully shove the latch back into place. I don’t know why I do it, but maybe it’s because some part of me wants to show respect for the home of the boy who saved my life.
