The second of July, 1984 is a day I’ll never forget. I stare at the sun melting into the horizon. The evening air smells ripe with a sultry thickness southerners are accustomed to, like tasting sweet iced tea and annual visits to the cemetery.
Mother drives me home from the airport.
I settle back against the seat, aware of its comfort, and close my eyes, intent on shutting out the drudge of the last four days. I want nothing more than to think about getting out of my sweat-drenched clothes, which feel horrible on my skin, and washing off a long day of airports and flight changes.
Mother convinced me that I’d needed to go with her to Atlanta for a small business seminar called “Mind Your Own Business.” The whole experience has been ridiculous and trite as the title.
Truth is, I’ve resen
