My Cardboard Balcony

Retrospective Road Trip by Belinda Roddie We left town at two PM, stopped by the gas station - not for car fuel, but for a coke and some Rolos - and after that, we were off. We hit every place where I fell in love: Monterey, kisses at the aquarium, where the otters were holding hands. Gilroy, sour tongues and salty lips after eating garlic ice cream. San Luis Obispo, hidden caresses while scouring booths for squash and cucumbers at the Farmer's Market. Santa Barbara, where I first drank red wine, and under the tutelage of a beautiful woman with primped lips. See, loves, you left as much of a mark on me as the tires of my truck leave on an already beaten down 101. You won't catch me in Carlsbad, hands up against the sea wall; you won't find me under the arch of Encinitas, crooning for lost love under oceanside moonlight. And you sure as hell won't see me sneaking tequila shots in Tijuana, learning Spanish from a mujer  with a good eye fo

It's a new year, so let's tell stories that we can pretend we've never heard before. Our daughters will fall in love and weave dead flowers into each other's hair. We'll watch them grow and get used to holding hands, while your husband pours us glass after glass of cold iced tea. Even in the chilly winter mornings, it tastes so sweet, and the lemon makes my soul pucker up in all the right ways. Don't worry: I'll pay for our daughters' wedding.