I came across the border with a Bible, a pack of cigarettes and porno cards from the Vegas Strip. An appropriate contradiction in a purse attached to a girl like me.
I smile at the border guard; a flash of fake innocence that he returns with a facade of stone-faced power. I came across the border with “him” - the cause of more real smiles than fake ones, the reason I’m stuffed full of hot weather memories and general distaste for overzealous border control and uncertainties about the future.
We look like we know what we’re doing. To the point that I’m pretty sure we believe it ourselves. Driven by impulse, routine and fate all at the same time, logic becomes the asshole backseat driver we struggle to politely ignore.
He smiles at me as we enter the country. I clutch the Bible, throw away the cigarettes and spit my gum out in the porno cards.
(I wrote this in 2006 and just found it buried deep in a dusty notebook.)